The God of Steel and Stone
by silent-clarion
Summary: Grounded in Rabanastre while waiting for repairs on his ship, Balthier finds himself at loose ends. A visit to the Sandsea ends with a mysterious mark and equally mysterious petitioner. What is the God of Steel and Stone terrorizing the Estersand? Post RW
1. In Which Our Hero Awakens From a Nap

_**A/N: **This is a rough draft at the moment, currently lacks one final chapter to wrap things up but the main plot is complete at this point. I appreciate criticism, as this is my first FFXII fanfic to be posted and I'm testing the waters a bit. I plan to rework the chaptering some when I revise. Thank you in advance for reading, and I'll get that last chapter up as soon as I can (it's outlined, just haven't had a chance to write it TT)._

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**The God of Steel and Stone**

"Euuughhhh!" Balthier yawned, mouth wide and eyes scrunched shut, stretching his arms above his head. He blinked and looked around, sitting up in the _Strahl_'s pilot chair. _Fell asleep in the cockpit again, did I?_ he thought. Balthier rubbed his face and scrubbed his hands through his short, blonde-dyed hair, chasing the last of his nap away. He slipped his feet into backless leather shoes that lay where he'd kicked them off and stood, straightening his ornate vest and attempting to brush some of the wrinkles from the sleeves of his white shirt. He gave up with a grimace of disgust. The view through the smeared windscreen remained the same as before he'd dozed off: the inside of a docking port in Rabanastre's aerodrome.

Leaving the cockpit he moved toward the back of the ship, squeezing through the _Strahl_'s narrow passageways until he reached his tiny cabin. Balthier lingered there briefly to change shirts and wash his face with a bit of scented water. Refreshed and presentable once again, he poked his head into the engine compartment.

"Nono!" Balthier called. "Nono! How long unti--ahh!" The Moogle's brown head and bright orange pompom appeared suddenly in front of his face, and Balthier rocked back in shock. "Nono, you'll give a man a heart attack doing that."

"Sorry boss! You were shouting but I was right here, just under the hatch--kupo!" The Moogle twitched his broad ears and rubbed his nose, leaving a smear of grease like a black moustache on his fur. "Repairs will be done in a snap, kupo, but--"

"Excellent!" Balthier stood as if to return to the cockpit. "As soon as Fran returns we can be back in the sky, where we belong. I'll--wait, did I hear a qualification on that statement?" He turned back to Nono, one eyebrow cocked.

"Uh...kupo." Nono nodded. "The repairs aren't the problem. It's the parts." Nono bobbed his pompom and ducked his head, avoiding Balthier's intense stare. "The parts we need are backordered kupo and it's probably going to be two or three weeks before they can be delivered."

"Three weeks!" Balthier threw up his hands and rolled his eyes in dismay. "That long on the ground, we're like to start growing moss."

Nono whistled his own frustration. "I tried, kupo! Even checked the black market parts dealers here in Rabanastre, but no can do!"

Balthier raised his hand in a placating gesture. "No, I know. I understand." He rubbed his thumb along one of the arching bulkheads, wiping away a small smear of grease or dirt. "The _Strahl_ is a high-maintenance girl. She only accepts the rarest and most expensive of gifts," he said with a small smile, looking back at the drooping Moogle.

Nono perked up again and gave a chirruping whistle. "Kupopo!"

"Oh, Nono," Balthier said over his shoulder, turning to leave. "Where _is_ Fran? I thought she was just going to pick up some supplies."

Nono put his small paw to his chin and looked at the ceiling, thoughtful. "Well, kupo, she said something about supplies before she left, but she had a pack with her and her weapons." Nono looked at Balthier. "Did you fight with Fran, kupo?"

Balthier's eyebrows shot up in surprise then he scowled. "I don't..._think_ we fought about anything." He shrugged. "It's hard to tell sometimes." Balthier turned and walked back toward the _Strahl_'s main hatch and slapped the control button to open it. "Fran is Fran," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the hum of the hatch's hydraulics as it lowered. "She'll be back. In the meantime, I think I shall go into town." He glanced back at Nono, who was still half-emerged from the engine compartment. "If I stay here much longer, I will surely find out firsthand if one can perish from boredom."


	2. In Which Our Hero Partakes of Free Booze

Balthier usually enjoyed an afternoon stroll through the streets of Rabanastre, walking along the sun-warmed flagstones one minute then deep in cool, refreshing shade cast by the tall buildings in the next. He also usually enjoyed watching the local ladies cast eyes in his direction as he passed, or whisper to their companions, "Is that--could it be?" He would smirk in their direction, perhaps wink as he caught their gaze, and watch as they blushed and giggled no matter what age. Usually.

Infamy works best when one's appearance is a novelty. The _Strahl_ had been grounded for over a week, brought in only on the skill of her pilot nearly ten days past with the glossair engines sputtering and fitfully spinning. No dramatic escape or valiant sky battle caused the damage--just everyday wear and tear and possibly her skilled pilot not getting _all_ of the damned Dalmascan sand out of the moving parts after that last hunt when a sandstorm had blown up around them.

Ten days in a docking hangar, ten days of Balthier trying to escape boredom through whatever means he could find, which usually meant heading into Rabanastre proper to see what mischief he could get into. Ten days of the people of Rabanastre seeing his dashing figure strolling their streets. By now, he was old news.

Most simply continued about their business and ignored him. He was just another face in the crowd. The anonymity stung, and Balthier hunched his shoulders against it, sullen. Finally the question he needed to hear reached his ears, as he passed a group of Hume and Bangaa laborers resting in the shade, their burdens on the street around their feet. "Who is that?" a Hume, shirtless like many in Rabanastre, asked his fellows, jerking his head around in Balthier's direction as the sky pirate walked past.

"Oh, that." One of the other laborers answered, a large gray Bangaa with covered eyes. "Just some sky pirate what can't get his ship up." The group laughed, their jeers carrying clearly to Balthier's burning ears as he quickened his pace. By the time he reached the Sandsea and pushed open the carved wooden doors to enter the relative cool inside the tavern, Balthier was very out of sorts.

He ascended the stairs to the left of the bar and took a seat at his usual table near the balcony's rail. One of the Sandsea's barkeeps quickly brought him a drink, a chilled glass of the tart Dalmascan wine Balthier had taken a liking to in his many visits to the tavern in the past few days. He downed the drink and waved for another. A few moments later a fresh goblet plunked down in front of him, condensation beading on the glass.

"Getting started a bit early today, pirate." The Sandsea's owner, Tomaj, slid into the seat opposite Balthier, tossing the tail of his orange scarf over the chair's padded back.

Balthier leaned back in his seat, tilting it so that it balanced on two legs. He glanced over his shoulder, down toward the Sandsea's main floor where the tables were thick with patrons. Nodding in their direction he said, "If they're any indication, I've started quite late and need to catch up."

Tomaj laughed, leaning forward in his seat with his hands on knees. "It's true. Not much to do around here for fun other than drink, some days. And with all the reconstruction and new projects Lady Ashe has started, there are more with gil to burn jingling in their pockets." Tomaj spread his hands and smiled. "All I can do is help them spend it."

Balthier noticed the casual way Tomaj referred to Ashe. Respectful, but not in awe. _Traveling with a lady will do that I suppose, Queen or no,_ he thought. He placed one hand on the table, palm flat, and spread his fingers. The gaily-colored rings he wore stood out against his skin, but one finger remained empty. A slightly paler band of skin circled it, but it had nearly faded. Perhaps it was only his imagination that he could see it at all anymore. He closed his hand into a fist, as though grasping something that was no longer there.

"Drink up," Tomaj said, interrupting Balthier's introspection. "That one's on the house. For being such a loyal customer and all."

"Well then," Balthier said with a smirk, "I shan't let it go to waste." He took a mouthful of the cool wine and swished it over his tongue before swallowing. "Very nice!" he said, brows raised in surprise. "This isn't the usual swill you serve."

Tomaj grinned. "I thought you'd appreciate it. Got a case of it in trade from a merchant who was just down from Bujherba."

Balthier frowned at the deep red liquid. "This is not Madhu, though."

"No," Tomaj confirmed. "It's something new. There's a winery just starting to produce, set up on one of the smaller islands off of that new _purvama_ everyone has been so hot to explore. They're distributing through Bujherba for now."

Balthier took another sip, drinking slowly to savor the complex flavors. The wine was sweet, but with a dusky body that kept it from being _too_ sweet. "I don't think it should be served cold," he finally stated.

"Ahhh, don't I know it," Tomaj said with a grimace. He shrugged. "That's how it's done in Rabanastre though. Nobody wants warm wine or beer when they've been out in the heat and the sand all day."

The two men sat in silence for a few moments, Balthier drinking his wine while Tomaj's sharp eyes roamed over the activity in the tavern. As soon as Balthier placed the empty goblet on the table, a female barkeep who had been hovering nearby swept it and the first empty glass up and bustled away. Tomaj turned his keen gaze back toward the sky pirate.

"I get the feeling this wasn't just a friendly visit," he said.

Balthier traced patterns on the tabletop in the water left by the glass. "No. I'd thought to check the notice board, see if there was anything...interesting lurking nearby."

Tomaj waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "All small fry lately. Vaan and Penelo took the last real mark that was posted. Guess they're still out on that hunt, haven't seen them in a few days." Tomaj patted his vest as if looking for something. "There is one I was holding back..." he said, trailing off. He slipped a folded piece of paper from an inside pocket and handed it across the table to Balthier. "Got that one the other day, but it looked like a tough job. I decided to take it down and see if Vaan wanted it when he came back, but since you're here," Tomaj shrugged. "You and Fran could probably take it down pretty easy, so I'll let you have it instead."

Balthier unfolded the slip of paper to reveal a standard-looking bill, a sketch of the mark taking up most of the paper with information about where to find the petitioner and a seal rating the rank of the mark. The sketch on this bill was simply a vague, hulking humanoid shape with glowing yellow eyes. It was ranked quite high. "The God of Steel and Stone?" Balthier asked, one eyebrow quirked upwards.

"Eh...that's what merchants have started calling it. I'd heard some rumors about a big monster running around in the Estersand, glowing eyes, made of stone but with some metal parts, but figured it was just a rogue golem wandered down from the Highwaste." Tomaj spread his hands, palms up. "The petitioner knows more about it than me though."

"Where can I find him?" Balthier asked, re-folding the bill and slipping it into one of the pouches hanging from his belt.

"Her," Tomaj corrected. "I don't know where she's staying--she just comes by for a few minutes every night to see if anyone has accepted the hunt." Tomaj frowned. "I think she's got some kind of obsession." He stood, pulling his vest to straighten it. "I told her, the job was too tough for just anybody and it might be a while before those guys got back. But she still comes in and asks."

Balthier turned in his chair to look out across the balcony rail once again. "How will I know her?" he asked.

Tomaj ran one hand through his short-cropped brown hair and barked a short, harsh laugh. "Oh, she won't be hard to spot. Just keep an eye out for a woman who looks like she's got all the souls of Nabudis breathing down her neck." Tomaj raised one hand in farewell as he left the table to attend to business downstairs at the bar.

Balthier took the paper out again, staring at the bill and the strange figure sketched on its surface. The attentive barkeep returned with another glass of wine, the regular Dalmascan stuff again. Balthier nursed the drink and passed the time by watching the flow of patrons through the tavern, leaned back in his chair with his feet on the rail. Tomaj periodically glanced up at him and Balthier smirked at the tavern owner's disapproving glare at his posture.

It was well after dark when Balthier stood and stretched, weary of his chair and tired of waiting. He was just about to head down to the bar to tell Tomaj he'd meet the petitioner some other time when the tavern doors opened yet again, letting a group of drunken patrons stagger outside into the night air. As they left, a woman slipped by in their wake and stopped just inside, looking around. Balthier's eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. _Tomaj wasn't kidding_, he thought.

The woman appeared to be his age, perhaps a bit older, but it was hard to judge because her face was prematurely aged as if from some terrible worry or strain. Her hair was light brown, a bit darker than most in Rabanastre but not out of the ordinary. As she stepped out of the shadows near the door the tavern lights picked up strands of gray streaking through her hair, which was pulled back into a set of braids that looked to be on the verge of unraveling. Her cream-colored shirt was long and tied in the front across average-sized breasts (Balthier examined them from his vantage point unashamed). It was left open around her body and as she walked toward the bar with a purposeful stride, it billowed out behind her. Her arms were wrapped with dingy cloth but her shoulders were bare--she had nice shoulders, Balthier noted. Loose fabric trousers the color of sand were tied off at the knee with dark red strips of leather, and her lower legs were wrapped with a similar cloth as on her arms. Worn sandals covered her feet.

Before she reached the bar, Tomaj turned to look at Balthier and pointed up at the balcony toward his table. The woman looked up, her harsh expression broken suddenly by something that might have been hope, or perhaps just relief. The change was fleeting, her scowl returned just as quickly as it had vanished. Balthier remained standing as the petitioner approached.

"I understand you have a bit of a problem," he said, moving to the other chair and pulling it out for her. The woman accepted his courtesy with a nod. Balthier swung his own seat around and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. He noted that up close, the cloth wrappings she wore on her arms and legs bore marks left from straps, like those on protective armor.

"Does that mean you will accept my bill?" the woman asked. The scowl broke again, hope/relief flickering across her face once more, briefly. Balthier realized that she looked completely exhausted. Dark circles sat like bruises under her eyes. He nodded then pushed the creased bill across the table at her.

"Tell me what this is, and why it is so important to you that it dies."

The woman extended a trembling hand toward the paper and touched it, lightly brushing her fingertips across the inked sketch. "This creature...my husband created it. The day it was born, my life ended."

Balthier gestured for the barkeep to bring them drinks, but the woman shook her head. "I am here strictly for business," she said.

"Then let us get down to it," Balthier said, settling in to listen to her story.


	3. In Which Our Hero Listens to a Story

_The woman placed her hands on the table and took a few deep breaths, as though gathering strength. Then she began..._

I do not recall the name I was given at birth, nor where I was originally born. Archadia came, fire fell from the sky, and I was alone. I fell in with other war orphans and eventually made it to Mt. Bur-Omisace as a refugee, and lived there with the Kiltias for a time. At this time, I went by Beet, a nickname given by the other children. It was not a name I particularly liked, but it worked as well as any other.

After I had been there a time, a man came to study in the monastery's great libraries. The Kiltias called him Dr. Ahrimbrae. He caused quite a stir among the young girls, a dashing young scientist with such intense eyes. I remember that the most, when we would spy on him as he walked with the Nu Mou and spoke to them at length about things I could not begin to understand.

Tired of being followed, perhaps, the scientist started asking us to run errands for him. Little things, like taking a message to one of the Kiltias or bringing him food from the stands down on the mountainside. The other girls lost interest, but I remained at his side. His eyes held me captive, and I slowly became something of an assistant.

"What is your name?" he asked me one day. "I cannot continue to call you 'Girl' all the time."

I was embarrassed. I didn't remember my real name, and asking this brilliant man to call me by a coarse nickname like "Beet" filled me with shame. I ran away and did not return to him at all that day or the next.

It was he who found me, high on the mountain's cliffs above the temple. He brought food, like I was a wild thing he wished to tame. I suppose in a way I was. Lured by treats, I allowed him to coax the story from me and confessed my shame. To a young girl, it was a terrible crisis. I remember clearly wishing that I would die, that the rock open up and swallow me whole. But he laughed, the first time I remember him laughing. That only made it worse, of course, and I started to cry. He wiped away my tears, and his hands were warm and rough against my skin. That was the day I fell in love.

He gave me a new name that day. "Like a lost bird, I found you here on this ledge," he said. "A dove who has lost the way back to her nest." He called me Oma, the word for dove in the ancient Nu Mou script he was researching.

He brought me down from the mountain, and told the priests that I would be helping him, and moved me into chambers near his own quarters. It was like a dream, those days. I worked very hard late into the night, finding books for him from titles he copied out for me--I could not read the script, so had to look at the words like they were pictures. I did not know what he studied, but it seemed to be very important to him. I discovered later that it held the key to his true obsession, and what he learned in those ancient texts allowed him to build the monster that would end everything.

When he had learned all that he could, and chafed to return to Archades to his laboratory to continue his research, I wept bitterly for fear he would leave me behind. He wiped my tears away once more, and told me that his Oma would never leave his side. I was still but a child, and I think he saw me in those days as a little sister, or perhaps a daughter. Still, I had managed to capture his heart even in that small way and so he kept his promise and I remained at his side when he returned to his home.

I learned, upon arrival to Archades, that Dr. Ahrimbrae was a wealthy and respected man, rising quickly in Archadian society. I was just a foreign urchin not long from being a refugee--my company was not required or desired at the stuffy social functions he was forced to attend, rubbing elbows with those in power in order to secure the funding he needed for his research.

I think my presence was a relief to him in those days. He often came home in a foul mood, and the two of us would retire to his laboratory where he assembled an endless series of small models out of steel and mythril and glass. They looked like dolls, little man-shaped things that when complete, would shudder and thrash until they burst apart. Each one was a failure, but Dr. Ahrimbrae saw them merely as one step on an endless ladder. Each broken doll was one more step higher, one more step closer to his goal. He worked on them fervently, pausing only to eat when I brought him food, sleeping curled on a cot in the corner of his lab. When invitations came requesting his presence at yet another banquet or garden party, he would sigh and crumple the beautiful paper in his fist, then stroke my hair or pat my head--as though I were a pet. I think in those days he did not truly see me as a person, simply a presence who depended on him, who loved him unconditionally.

I was out of place, awkward and uncouth and quickly becoming a woman before I even understood what that meant. I often despaired, especially when Dr. Ahrimbrae was gone for long spans of time, called away to work on projects for the Senate or the military. Still, he always returned and each time it seemed that seeing me eased the turmoil in his heart. That was enough, and our time in Archades lengthened into years.

It was not to last. Dr. Ahrimbrae returned after one of these trips enraged. He locked himself in his laboratory for several days, and when I pressed my ear to the door I could hear things shattering as he threw them to the floor. When he finally let me in, he was like a different man. He had aged years in just a matter of days. I learned, eventually, that he had presented his research to the Senate, and they had not responded favorably.

Dr. Ahrimbrae's life's work revolved around golems. He was obsessed with them, with improving them until they were independently intelligent life forms of their own, not dependent on a master to command them. His idea was to create a golem that would learn and grow, repair itself when it was damaged, and possibly even reproduce. He wanted to create _life_, not just an assemblage of inanimate parts that moved when influenced by an outside energy. It was, perhaps, a fool's dream. The Senate certainly saw it as one. They laughed him out of Tsenoble and cut his funding completely. Other ideas brought by other up-and-coming scientists were more promising, they said. Build a golem the army can use, and perhaps the military will pay your bills.

He was not looking to create a weapon, though. Humiliated and terrified that the military might take an interest in his research for their own purposes, he destroyed his lab. When I managed to push open the door and found him amid the ruins of his work, I felt a spark of...relief. Of hope. Maybe now he would see me as more than just his assistant. It was selfish, and I felt terrible guilt at being happy with his misfortune, but the more I watched him create those tiny men that thrashed themselves to pieces, the more I grew to fear his dream. I think even then, I could only see it ending in disaster. And so I was happy when we packed a few essentials and fled the city, the home we'd shared burning to ash behind us.

We traveled, living as nomads, visiting far-flung lands where Dr. Ahrimbrae met with other scientists who specialized in golems and other artificial creatures. True to his promise, I was ever by his side. Free from that oppressive city I was happy, and I think Dr. Ahrimbrae was as well. He started to spend more time talking to me about things we saw, asking my opinions, and I believe for the first time he realized I was no longer a child.

We were married in Rozarria, in a small village where we lived for a time while Dr. Ahrimbrae, Ran, searched the ruins of an ancient library. The villagers often asked me when the children would come along, and teased us that "now, now you will have to settle down!" I don't think hearth and home was truly what either of us desired, though. My home was at his side, wherever that happened to be, and Ran...Ran was content to chase his dream and let it carry him where it willed.

He found something in that library though, something he wrapped tightly in a small bundle and refused to let me look at. Something dark settled around him, a shadow in his eyes that I did not like to see. We left the village the next day, and traveled to Dalmasca. War was all around us, and we lived among refugees until Ran was able to find a small place for us in Rabanastre, in Lowtown. He turned the apartment into a lab, filling it with mechanisms until there was barely a place for us to sleep. These were no longer dolls, but full-size limbs and other body parts. They also did not fall to pieces when he caused them to move, but what was giving them energy I was never able to see. He kept it hidden carefully from me, and since he did not want me to see I did not try to look, though it stung me that he acted this way.

When peace arrived once more, Ran announced that the apartment was too small. He asked that I remain behind and tend to it, while he went out to secure a more suitable location for his work. I do not know what money he intended to use for this--all along I had taken jobs to support us so that he could work uninterrupted. We also relied a great deal on the kindness of his fellow scientists, who often took us in in exchange for Ran's help on their own studies or simply out of curiosity. I later learned he had secretly been in contact with Archadia's government, perhaps even the military that he once despised. I wept when I found out how twisted his dream had become.

He sent for me a few weeks later, and I joined him in the Mosphoran Highwaste. The new laboratory was a ruin, mostly open to the weather but the tunnels and chambers carved beneath it were secure and quite expansive. It was like a palace after the small apartment in Rabanastre, and I enjoyed being out of the city. It was near enough to the passes used by caravans that supplies were never a problem, and I enjoyed talking to the merchants and other travelers passing through. Ran grew distant, but I was busy turning the ruin into a home and exploring the mountains around us, similar to the mountains I remembered from my time with the Kiltias, that I did not immediately notice. I still aided him as well, observing the activity of the strange clay golems that roamed the mountains, loosed from war and gone berserk without their masters.

Winter came and with it snow and ice, so that we were both confined belowground in the ruins I'd made snug and warm. Ran spent most of his time in the large chamber he used for a laboratory, and faced with its locked door every day I finally realized how blind I had been. I pleaded with him to come out, to take a break from work. When he emerged to take food or tell me to be silent, I was stricken by how thin his face had become, how shadowed and hollow his eyes were. They burned like flame, the intensity I remembered and fell in love with amplified a thousand times until it was something terrible, something that consumed him from the inside. I started leaving food for him by the door and no longer asked him to come out. The noises I heard from inside the lab left me terrified, shaking with fear and covering my ears. Besides the sound of metal scraping against metal and a pounding like a blacksmith's forge, I could swear I heard voices screaming in pain. I longed for the weather to break--for the first time, I wanted to flee from Ran's side and never return.

After days of relentless noise, at which point I was nearly ready to flee through the snow and ice to escape, the lab fell silent. I feared I had gone deaf, but the lab door unlocked with a clank that echoed through our cave-like home.

I pushed the door open. There was little light; most of the chamber was lost to darkness. I saw Ran in the center of the room, sitting beside something strapped to a table. The only light in the room came from whatever was on the table, glowing and pulsing with a warm light, almost like sunlight. I crept forward, fearing what I would find. Ran looked up at me and smiled, and I nearly collapsed with relief. The shadow that had consumed him was gone, and the Ran I knew had returned to me. It had taken a terrible toll on him though. His hair and beard were nearly white, and when I embraced him his bones felt light and frail, like a bird's.

"It is finished," he whispered, running his hands over the shining frame that lay on the table. It was shaped like a man, but much larger. Skeletal, I could see through the framework of steel rods and cables through to the scarred wooden surface it rested upon. But in its chest, that was the most amazing thing of all. Where a man's heart would lie, a shining stone pulsed and emitted the light that I had seen upon entering the room. Cables and tubes connected to it ran through the frame, twining through each limb and up through its skull. Eyes like empty windows sat in a smooth, blank face.

"These are just bones," Ran said, his voice growing stronger and taking on the lecturing tone I knew well. "A framework. It will construct itself from here on, taking on what it needs as it learns and grows." His hands trembled as he reached toward the thing's face, stroking the smooth steel. "Would that I had a better material to make it from, but even now I work under constraints."

As I stood there behind Ran, holding his frail shoulders and staring at the thing he had made, I suddenly felt like the warm light streaming from the stone in its chest was colder than the ice outside. I loathed it, feared it instinctively. "Destroy it," I whispered.

"What?" Ran turned to me, his surprise and disappointment plain on his face. "Are you mad? This is what I have worked--what _we_ have worked all of these years to achieve! Why would I destroy it?"

I shook my head, unable to communicate just _why_ this steel creature filled me with such dread. Ran pulled away from my grasp and stood, supporting his body against the table.

"I have been set upon by doubters and those who would bring my ruin at every turn," he said, his voice low and terrible with anger. "But I never dreamed that my Oma would number among them."

"No, please...you don't understand!" I pleaded with him, but he would hear none of it.

"Out of my sight!" he shouted. He pushed me from the room with surprising strength, and locked the door behind me. I pounded on it, cried and begged for him to leave that thing, to smash it to pieces, but he would not hear me. I wept, for him and for myself, and he did not come to dry my tears.

He activated the creature that night, as I lay in our bed alone and tried to sleep. I heard him scream, and leapt from the bed and ran to the lab. The golem was already gone, smashed through walls and up into the weather, leaving the snow and wind to pour in through the holes it left.

The lights were out, but the moon was high and nearly full, and with the snow reflecting it was nearly bright as day. I picked through the rubble and found Ran, his blood staining the snow already drifting over the ruins of his lab.

"My Oma..."

Those were his last words to me. I held him as he bled his life away there in the snow, until he grew cold as the snow that settled on his face. When dawn came, I straightened his broken body and covered him with stone there in the lab, so that he might rest where his dream had been fulfilled. I buried my life with him there as well, and my name.

Now I am just Beet again, and I have failed in the only task Ran left for me. I cannot kill the thing he made alone. That is why I ask for your help.


	4. In Which Our Hero Accepts the Challenge

"I am sorry," Beet said as she finished her tale. "You probably didn't expect to sit through my life's story."

"On the contrary," Balthier said with a wry smile. "It's quite refreshing to meet someone who is so...straightforward in her motives." He stood and faced his chair around the proper way before sitting again. "I want to clarify a few points, though."

Balthier ticked points off on his fingers. "So, your late husband was Ran Ahrimbrae. I've heard the name--usually listed among those who are considered brilliant but raving mad. He was run out of Archades but maintained contact with someone there who slipped him gil under the table, in order to continue his research. At some point he found a very special, very powerful item in Rozarria with which he powered his new breed of golem. After he was killed, you've spent two years tracking this creature, which to my understanding is self-repairing, learning, and nigh indestructible." He leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated motion, resting one arm on the balcony rail. "That's the sum of it, then?"

"Not quite," Beet said, leaning down to remove something from a wide pocket sewn to the leg of her loose pants. The object turned out to be paper, folded many times on itself until it was no larger than her hand. Beet gently unfolded it and spread it out on the table, then turned it around for Balthier to examine.

He immediately recognized it as a schematic drawing. It showed several cross-section views of a humanoid-shaped construct, with detailed notes describing materials and dimensions. Much of it was illegible due to wide smears of a reddish-brown substance. Balthier scowled and looked up at Beet as soon as he realized what it was.

She nodded. "My husband's blood. I found this clutched in his hand after the thing escaped." Beet looked away, staring out over the Sandsea's main floor. "He knew, I think. At the very end." She turned back and met Balthier's gaze. "He knew what he had done. So he left me this," she said, smoothing the wrinkled paper and allowing her fingers to linger on a deep stain. "As I said, this is my final task for him."

Beet tapped the paper, where a specific point on the golem was circled and notes written beside it. "This is what I wished you to see." Balthier leaned closer, reading the blurred text.

"Hm. " He frowned at the drawing, cocking his head slightly to the right. "Then that is the golem's weak point?"

Beet nodded. "He built it as a failsafe, I believe. Even though he refused to destroy it when I asked, I think he also feared what he was creating." Balthier examined the drawing for a bit longer, but when he indicated that he was finished she folded it once again and placed it back in her pocket. "I know I asked before," she said when it was put away, "but I want to make sure. Is this a hunt you are willing to take on?"

Balthier was silent for a moment, thinking about what he was about to get himself into. _Fran's not here to pull you from the fire_, he thought. _This one might be more than you can handle._ Then he smirked, one eyebrow raised. "It's been dreadfully dull 'round here. Not very fitting to my status as the leading man, you know." He rose then extended a hand to help Beet to her feet. "As I've said before--with each passing day, the world finds new and exciting ways to kill a man. This one sounds more exciting than most."

--

Balthier strode through the brightly-lit streets of Rabanastre on his way back to the aerodrome. He was always amazed at how bright the city was both during the day and at night, lit with artificial lights hanging from the walls and on poles, chasing the shadows into the pockets between buildings and down into sprawling Lowtown. Despite the late hour, the streets were busy with residents moving about, working and running errands during the cool of the night in order to escape the blazing heat of day. The flagstones beneath his feet still radiated warmth, knocking some of the chill from the desert air.

Balthier had left a list of supplies with Tomaj to pass along to one of Vaan's street urchin friends. Before they parted at the Sandsea, Beet had given him an advance on the reward she offered, saying: _"I have my own supplies, but you will need to provision before we leave. I suggest bringing a blade, other than his eyes the golem is impervious to bullets."_

"Unusual, that," Balthier mused aloud, touching the pouch where the remainder of the gil hung at his waist. "Rare business to get an advance on a hunt reward." Not one to waste such a gift, he left most of it with Tomaj to cover his supplies, with a reward for whichever child ran his errands. "But this business of a blade is a bit more difficult."

The ideal weapon came to mind, a slim spear wrested from the Necrohol of Nabudis a few years ago. But that weapon was long out of reach, confiscated by the new Queen of Dalmasca. "Too dangerous to remain in the hands of sky pirates and children," she'd said before locking it away in the royal treasury. Said treasury had also seen some security upgrades, which made breaking in to steal it an impossibility. _Well, not impossible. Just a royal pain in the ass._ Balthier thought. _Much like Her Majesty herself on occasion._

"Suppose I'll just see what we have left on the airship," he muttered, twisting his mouth in a disappointed frown. Amal's Weaponry was closed for the night, but if need be he could stop by in the morning before they set off.

The aerodrome was mostly dark when he arrived, minimally staffed at night. He waved and smiled at the night clerk working the ticketing counter, a pretty girl who wore her blonde hair pulled back severely in a bun. Stranded travelers made small islands of luggage as they slept in chairs in the lobby, and a Seeq mopping the polished stone floor snorted as Balthier walked across the wet floor and left a trail of footprints. "Sorry!" he said, ducking through the wide entrance to the docking area.

Nono had shut the main hatch, Balthier noted as he reached the _Strahl_. He removed a small device from one of the pouches on his belt and pressed a button. Hydraulics rumbled as the hatch descended, allowing him entry. A sleepy Nono tottered up the passageway from the rear of the ship where he slept, rubbing his eyes like a child.

"I'm sorry, Nono." Balthier said in a low voice. "Go back to sleep—I didn't mean to wake you."

"Kup—ohhh," Nono yawned and nodded, staggering back to his bed.

Balthier turned in the other direction and slipped through the airship's narrow main passage to Fran's cabin. He had little need for more weapons besides his trusty Fomalhaut and a dagger or two, but Fran liked weapons and kept a small collection in her quarters. Barely wider than the bunk it contained, with storage above and below the bed, the _Strahl_'s cabins were claustrophobic at best. Fran kept hers starkly tidy, her personal possessions stowed away. Except for the rack she'd had him affix to the wall opposite the bunk, which now positively bristled with weapons of every sort.

"My girl does like to be prepared," Balthier said in admiration. He selected the only spear available, with a long, slender head on a dark wooden shaft. A shimmering white metal spiraled around the shaft and was inlaid on the head of the spear in swirling designs. He felt a slight pang of guilt at the thought that it might be Viera-made, perhaps something precious to Fran. Looking at the spear, he murmured, "Sorry my dear. If I break it I'll try my best to make it up to you." Glancing around the cabin Balthier turned to leave, when something on the bunk caught his eye.

A piece of paper, folded in half once. It bore no name.

Balthier rested the spear upright against the wall and took up the paper, opening it. Inside, written in Fran's elegant hand, a single line read:

_Gone to Roda._

Balthier re-folded the paper and placed it back on the bunk. Fran had gone to Roda Volcano to visit the ruined village of the Feol Viera, the Exiled. Balthier knew she had felt a sense of kinship when the two of them had been to the volcano in the past with Vaan and his friends, and a deep sadness when they arrived too late and the strange Viera were slain. "Paying your respects, are you," he said to the empty room as he took up the spear once more. "I think…they would appreciate the gesture." Passing his hand across the light-control plate, he left the darkened cabin and slid the door shut behind him.


	5. In Which Our Hero Enters the Desert

They met at Eastgate an hour after dawn. Balthier emerged from the gate, the pack of supplies he'd stopped to get at the Sandsea slung over one shoulder. Fran's spear also rested on his back, strapped securely with a makeshift harness and wrapped completely in tan cloth. His hip pouches were stocked with fresh ammunition and his gun rode in its holster on his belt. Beet held the reins of two rented chocobos. She had added leather bracers and greaves to her attire, covering the wrappings around her forearms and shins.

Restless, the huge birds stomped and wharked through their beaks, tossing their broad feathered heads as a fitful wind kicked sand into the air. According to the information Beet had collected from merchants and villagers along the Nebra River, Ran's golem had last been seen north of the Nebra, in the area known as the Yoma. Today they would travel by chocobos to the Estersand village, and then ride the ferry across the Nebra the next morning.

Balthier took the reins from Beet and steadied her stirrup as she swung across the saddle. He then mounted his own chocobo with a smooth motion and they set out at a steady pace, the looming gates of Rabanastre soon out of sight behind eroded red cliffs. Conversation was difficult due to the wind, which strengthened as they rode out into the open desert. It was by no means a sandstorm, but hindered visibility all the same. Balthier squinted as sand blew into his eyes, and when he glanced over at Beet he saw she had wrapped a thin scarf around her head and across her mouth and nose. _Not a bad idea, that_, he thought, blinking stinging sand from his watering eyes.

They made good time despite the blowing sand, their chocobos desert-bred and equipped with a membrane they flicked over their large eyes to block the stinging particles. The Estersand's outpost, reached by mid-morning, was deserted save for a lone guardsman huddled under a flapping canvas lean-to who merely waved as they passed by. The pair stopped for a meal at noon, sheltered from the wind by a tall outcropping of rock. The chocobos, no longer fresh, stood docile and made cooing noises as they rubbed beaks and groomed sand from each other.

"Ugh," Balthier groaned as he stamped feeling back into his feet and stretched. "It's been a while since I rode anywhere on a chocobo. I think I would have preferred it to have been longer." He brushed at the sand and dust staining his white sleeves, knocking filth from his clothes in a large cloud.

Beet unwrapped her scarf, revealing her face. Dust caked around her eyes and left the lower part of her face clean. She smiled faintly at Balthier's complaints and rubbed at the dirt on her face, but only managed to smear it around so that she was more evenly dirty. "We're both of us a sight," she said, shaking her tangled braids out so that they fell down her back.

"No help for it now, I suppose," Balthier said in disgust. He gave up on the dust and opened the pack to see what Tomaj had packed for him. "Hmmm…" He rummaged through small packages tightly wrapped in waxy paper. Fishing one out, he held it to his nose to smell its contents. "Cheese." A softer package revealed itself to be bread. Unsheathing a short knife strapped to his leg, Balthier wiped it off with a scrap of the bread's paper and used it to cut a thick slice of pungent white cheese. Tearing off a hunk of bread he held them both in his teeth and re-wrapped each package as tightly as possible to keep the sand out. The knife, scoured with a bit of sand to clean it, went back into the sheath and the bread and cheese soon disappeared, washed down with lukewarm water from a sloshing waterskin. Balthier was disposing of a stray crumb of cheese that had stuck to his face when he noticed Beet watching him.

"I know, I know," he said, licking the crumb from his finger. "It's incredible that I can make dirt look _this_ good, but somehow I manage."

The dirt on her face crinkled as she smiled. "You're quite confident," she said. Her own meal was nearly consumed as well, similar fare but her bread was dark brown and she had placed a thin slice of cheese and a strip of cured meat between two slices. She took a deep pull from her own waterskin.

Balthier shrugged. "I suppose it's a gift." He stood and brushed sand from the seat of his pants, then took his pack and waterskin over to the chocobos and tied both to the rear of his saddle.

"I wouldn't," Beet said, indicating his equipment with a nod of her head. "That chocobo decides to run off, and you're stranded in the desert with no food or water."

"Good point," Balthier said. He slipped the knots securing his gear and placed them on the ground, then squatted beside them. "When you're ready, we can move on."

Beet pushed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and washed it down with a swallow of water. She slung her own pack across her shoulder, waterskin tied to it. Balthier hefted his gear and untied the chocobos, holding the reins once more as Beet mounted. Once they were both settled astride, the birds moved out from behind the outcrop, sand crunching under their clawed toes with each long stride.

The wind had died down and now only the merciless heat beat down on them, the air still and oppressive without the wind to stir it. Beet rearranged her scarf to cover her head but left her face free. Balthier held one hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from the glare in order to determine their path. They rode side by side, the only sounds the soft crunch of the sand as their chocobos walked and the periodic yips and howls of desert-dwelling wolves. The tall, close cliffs of the Yardang Labyrinth eventually opened up into a broad expanse of sand, and through the shimmering haze on the horizon the cool blue banks of the Nebra River came into view.

Balthier unslung his waterskin and took several long drinks, easing his dry throat. He scanned the sandy dunes and low outcroppings rising toward the distant cliffs, watching the wolves circle at a distance.

"They won't attack a rider on a chocobo, will they?" Beet asked. She too, had noticed the wolves.

Balthier shook his head. "No, they're too wily for that. Wolves know a full-grown chocobo is not a bird to be trifled with." He returned the skin to its place on his pack and kicked his chocobo to a faster pace. "I'd not like to be out here if these birds decided to go home to roost, though." Beet followed suit, and the pair raised a small cloud of dust as their chocobos sprinted across the sand. The wolves howled their frustration and followed at a safe distance, a constant presence keeping pace on their trail.

They arrived at the small village along the riverbank just as the sun slipped behind the red cliffs and spread blue shadows across the sands. Their tired chocobos shuffled through the open gate in the rail fence surrounding the small collection of plaster-covered huts. Children shouted and clustered around them as the pair dismounted, and the village's adults emerged from the houses to see what the commotion was.

"Welcome!" a wrinkled brown nut of an old woman, the village's elder, proclaimed. "We don't have much to offer travelers, but the river's bank here is safe from beasts and you may camp before taking the ferry in the morning."

Balthier and Beet gladly accepted the offer, stripping the gear from the chocobos and tethering them on long leads near the river so the birds could drink and bathe in the water. They would remain in the village until travelers going to Rabanastre needed mounts, possibly on the next ferry in the morning but likely not for several days hence. Balthier accepted cut firewood from the villagers while Beet scraped out a basin in the sand for their fire. They set their camp beneath one of the overhanging cliffs that sheltered the village on two sides, the Nebra gently washing against the sand on the third.

Darkness fell on the desert quickly, away from the bright lights of Rabanastre. The air quickly grew chilly as the sun's heat slipped away. Beet shivered and wrapped herself in a blanket, huddling close to the fire. They had eaten food cooked and brought out by the villagers, and now were settling in for the night.

"It's so strange," she said, "how the desert can go from being miserably hot to bitterly cold. I never got used to it when we lived here before."

"Hmph," Balthier grunted in agreement. He sat with his back to the cliff, and eyed his pack where his blanket was tightly rolled inside. "I never cared much for the desert either. Too much sand in places that shouldn't be sandy, for my taste."

Beet smiled again, easing the worried lines of her face. "I have to admit, I was a bit surprised last night, when you said you'd be alone." Her smile faded, her expression serious once more. "Are you certain…you can handle it?"

Balthier leaned forward. He had one leg bent and rested his arm on the upraised knee. "I'll do you the courtesy of not lying or joking about it, this time," he said. Staring into the fire, his face took on an intensity it rarely showed. "Something about your story, well, let's just say it sounded familiar." His hands slowly tightened into fists, though he did not seem to notice. "I know what it's like, to watch someone close to you _change_ into something you don't know anymore. That's why I accepted this hunt."

Balthier sighed and leaned back once again, the intensity gone, replaced by his usual cavalier smirk. "In all honesty, I don't know if I can handle this one alone. But if anyone has a chance to pull it off, it's the leading man."

Beet nodded, seeming to be satisfied with his answer. She held her hands close to the fire, rubbing them together for warmth. Balthier watched her for a moment before speaking. "You said you weren't able to kill this thing, last night," he said. "I assume that means you tried?"

She did not answer at first. Balthier wondered if he'd crossed a line, as she lowered her hands to her lap and clenched them into fists. It was not sorrow that choked her voice when Beet finally answered though. She spoke through teeth clenched in rage.

"That _thing_ and I have met three times. The first time, I was nearly able to kill it." She shook her head, strands of hair falling free and drifting in the warm air coming off the fire. "I thought it was dead, but my strike missed. I didn't destroy the heart." She looked up, meeting Balthier's gaze. The fire's light gleamed in her eyes and made harsh shadows from the planes of her face. "That was where I truly failed."

"The next time we met, it had repaired itself and learned from its mistakes. It learned to protect its weak point, and struck at me in ambush just as I had done to it." She turned her eyes back to the fire, gripping the fabric of her trousers in her fists until it creased. "It fled, and wounded, I chased it."

Relaxing her hands, she smoothed the fabric over her thighs and cast off the blanket. "The third time we met, it left me with these," she said, parting the lower section of her long shirt. Ragged scars ran across the taut flesh of her belly, disappearing across her ribs under her shirt. "It left me for dead and ran away once more, and when I recovered enough to track it the trail was cold. I was starting to lose hope when I heard the rumors coming out of the Estersand a few weeks ago."

Beet rearranged her clothes and pulled the blanket back over her shoulders. "It knows me too well, at this point. I am not a particularly skilled warrior, though I can fight, and I just don't have the ability to kill it anymore."

"Strange though," Balthier said. "It keeps running away, you said. Why would it do that?"

Beet shook her head. "I honestly cannot say. I don't know what my husband might have programmed it to do, if he could even do such a thing. I just know that it _is_ violent, that it _is_ dangerous." She sighed and clutched the blanket more closely around her, looking up at the myriad stars spread in the sky overhead. "One of the ways I was able to track it, before, was to just follow the bodies it left behind. Anyone it comes in contact with dies."

"Except for you," Balthier said.

Beet fell silent at that, and none of Balthier's quips could shake loose a response. Eventually they both rolled into their blankets and fell asleep, lulled by the gentle lapping of the river.


	6. In Which Our Hero Listens to Smalltalk

Sunlight glinted off the deep green waters of the Nebra as the ferry creaked its way across the broad river. The young man who guided the boat chattered excitedly about how he'd once had a friend from Rabanastre, a blonde fellow who used to come and fish with him and his father. _You do get around, Vaan,_ Balthier thought, smiling and nodding as the young ferryman explained how he had taken over the business and his father was retired.

"Travels all over, looking for new places to fish," he said, holding the long arm of the rudder firm against the river's strong current.

Balthier let the young man's words wash over him like water and watched the river flow beneath the boat, leaning against the rail. The sun was warm on his back, relaxing the kinks he'd developed sleeping on the sand. _It feels soft when you first lie down,_ he thought, _but the damn stuff packs down as hard as rock!_

Beet sat on the deck, also appearing to enjoy the sun. She was leaning back on her hands with her arms stiff, her face tilted up and eyes closed. The worry that creased her face relaxed, and Balthier could see that while she was not a beautiful woman, her face was pleasant to look at, with strong bones defining her features. As she leaned back he also had a very good view down the front of her shirt, and that served to improve the scenery quite a bit.

The ferry eventually scraped against the gravel-lined shore of the north bank, and the ferryman leaped down into the shallow water to pull it in and secure it to a stout pole set on the bank. As he hopped down into the warm shallows with a splash, Balthier noticed the remains of a small wooden dock downstream a short distance. "What happened there?" he asked as he extended a hand to help Beet down from the ferry.

"Oh that," the young man said with a shrug. "Some kind of big monster came down to the river one night. The people here said it sounded like a walking earthquake, and splashed around but couldn't get across. Then it smashed the dock and left." He put his hands on his hips and glared at the ruined dock. "I guess it got mad and took it out on my dock," he said, scowling. "At least it didn't attack any people."

"Did anyone happen to see it?" Balthier asked, hitching his pack and the spear higher on his shoulder and wading toward dry land. "Maybe catch which way it went?"

"Nah," the ferryman said, shaking his head. "They all locked their doors tight and hid, waited for it to leave. I don't guess anyone went out until morning, for that matter."

Beet followed Balthier up onto the hard-packed sand and shook the water from her sandals. "It would be too heavy to swim," she said in a low voice, keeping her head bowed. "And the water may be damaging to its body somehow."

"I'll keep that in mind," Balthier murmured in return. His own shoes squelched in an unpleasant manner, but would dry quickly in the desert air.

They said their farewells to the garrulous ferryman and walked slowly through the village. "It looks amazingly similar to the other side," Balthier said dryly. "I almost wonder if we even left."

Beet responded with something that might have been a short laugh, smothered behind her hand. She paused at a small stand where two children sat beneath a ragged awning, displaying shells and other trinkets on a faded board. Balthier waited as she chose an item, handing over what to his eyes was an exorbitant amount of gil.

"What's that, then?" he asked as she caught up.

She displayed the trinket, a bracelet that wrapped around her wrist and jingled softly with tiny bells strung amidst colorful stones and small polished shells. "Kind of gaudy, but it's a charm that's supposed to protect against danger, or something."

"With all the noise it makes, I imagine danger hears you coming and takes the opportunity to run away," Balthier said, rolling his eyes.

Beet waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and walked faster, leaving him behind. With an annoyed sigh, Balthier hitched his pack again and stretched his pace to catch up.


	7. In Which Our Hero Earns His Keep

On foot in the desert, their pace soon slowed once they left the influence of the Nebra's cooling breezes and the heat hit them in full force again. Beet wrapped her head in her scarf, turban-like, with the tails left loose to cover her neck. Balthier finally deigned to do the same with his spare shirt, tying the sleeves together so they fell across his neck and back and did not flap when the wind stirred.

Beet choked back another almost-laugh behind her hand as they stood in the meager shade offered by a scraggly tree and Balthier wrapped the shirt around his head.

"Oh yes, laugh it up," he said with a frown. "I'm certain this is the most ridiculous I've looked in a long time. Probably since the last time I wore an armored monkey suit."

"What do you mean?" Beet asked, but Balthier shook his head. "It's not important," he said, tucking in a stray corner of the shirt's tail. "Let's move on. I don't like the way those worgen have been eyeing us."

The landscape changed north of the river, becoming more rocky. The path they followed meandered between broken outcrops of rock and steadily climbed as they approached the foothills of the Mosphoran Highwaste. The red-furred worgen slunk along, ducking in and out of sight. Wolf-like, the beasts hunted in packs and were more determined than their southern cousins. Above, huge birds with black and white banded feathers wheeled and circled, their hunting not including the two Humes struggling through the sand and rocks below--unless provoked.

"Come on," Balthier said, taking Beet's arm and guiding her to a nearby outcrop. The wall rose above their heads at least half the height of a man, nearly vertical but broken and gouged by rockfalls and erosion, providing ample handholds. "We need to get to higher ground, right now."

Confused, Beet allowed him to push her toward the wall but looked around, trying to see what had alarmed the sky pirate. "What's going on?" she asked.

A trickle of stones and sand down the face of the outcrop caught Balthier's eye. "Down!" he shouted, pushing Beet to one side and throwing himself the other way. With a snarl, a huge worgen leaped down from the cliff above, crashing into the ground where they had been standing only a moment before. It rolled, momentarily out of control on the loose sand, but recovered in an instant. Beet crouched where she had fallen, one knee on the ground but her weapon, a wide-bladed dagger, out and ready. Balthier had already whipped his gun free and cocked it. Now he stood with it raised, taking aim at the massive beast. The alpha worgen threw back its head and howled, the rest of the pack returning the echoing cry in a chorus of yips and yowls. Balthier grunted and narrowed his eyes, firing at the worgen's exposed throat.

The gun's blast caught the beast right in the throat. It shuddered, thrown backwards by the force. Balthier walked forward, calmly cocking the gun again and taking aim. _Bang!_ He shot a second time. The bullet hit the worgen in the shoulder this time, throwing it to the ground. It let out a short yip and rolled with the impact, scattering stones.

Balthier glanced back to see Beet stand and start to advance. "Stay there!" he shouted, flinging out his hand to wave her back. While his attention was diverted the worgen snarled and leapt, jaws wide and slavering.

"Whoa!" Balthier cried out, as the full weight of the beast hit him. He was knocked to the ground and immediately rolled, trying to get out from beneath the worgen's snapping jaws. He came up and fired in the same motion, hitting the worgen point blank in the ribs. The beast yelped and limped away a short distance, blood streaming from the gunshot wound at its throat.

Balthier coughed and gained his feet, trying to force air back into his lungs. The worgen's strike had nearly knocked the wind out of him. The alpha worgen slowly advanced again, and members of its pack fell in at its side. Others circled around, trying to get to their flanks. Balthier kept his gun trained on the alpha and tried to watch the others, not wanting to lose sight of them.

Behind him, purple light flared and the air temperature dropped several degrees. _"Blizzara!"_ Beet shouted. The pair of worgen who had been slinking around to flank their position yelped, pierced by crackling ice. "Watch the leader!" she yelled. "I've got these two!"

Trusting her word, Balthier focused his attention on the wounded alpha. He narrowed his eyes and took aim once more. _Bang!_ The bullet struck the worgen in the forehead, directly between the eyes. The force knocked it backwards, sending the other worgen scattering. The alpha rolled then lay still.

Balthier took aim at the smaller worgen, taking advantage of their momentary confusion at the alpha's death. One shot knocked the first off its feet. A second shot dropped another where it stood. The third shot went wild as the remaining worgen ducked away, dodging behind an outcrop only to appear on higher ground, tongue lolling between wickedly sharp teeth.

With a hiss of annoyance, Balthier holstered his gun and raised one hand. Mist glowed to life around him as he uttered a low chant. _"Water!"_ he shouted, completing the spell and gesturing at the last worgen. A swirling torrent appeared from nowhere, lifting the worgen and tumbling it until the last breath was forced from its lungs and only water filled them in its place. Then the Mist-spawned waterspout collapsed, draining away and evaporating almost immediately in the dry air.

Balthier turned back to see Beet rolling the limp body of a worgen off of herself, her dagger jutting from its throat. The other worgen lay in a heap, shards of ice and frozen blood jutting from its body, already melting in the desert heat. Balthier jogged to her side and offered her a hand up, grimacing as she smeared worgen blood on his cuff. She cleaned her dagger on the worgen's fur and sheathed it, then collected her scarf and Balthier's extra shirt where the wind had blown them against the rocks after they both fell free during the attack. She shook the dust from the shirt before offering it to Balthier.

"Thanks," he said, accepting the shirt. Then with a groan, he leaned against a tumble of boulders nearby, the strength leaving his legs.

"Let me see," Beet said, her voice brisk and calm. She pushed his protesting hands away to press against his side, feeling for injuries through his clothes. Balthier hissed, wincing in pain as she found a tender spot on his ribs.

"You probably broke something when that thing hit you," she said.

Balthier nodded. "I've some potions in my pack, if you could hand me one." His voice was tight with pain, and he did not waste breath with a quip.

Beet opened his pack and located the indicated potions. "Looks like some of them broke when your pack fell," she said. "But there are still a few left."

Balthier accepted the small vial and downed the blue liquid inside. As soon as the vial was empty a small symbol engraved on the glass flashed into life and the bottle crumbled into dust. Balthier let it fall from his hand, mixing with the sand at his feet. He sighed in relief as the stabbing pain from his broken ribs eased into a mild soreness and he could breathe freely again. "Another potion would bring me back to top condition, but I am loathe to deplete our limited store," he said. Balthier stood, pressing his side with a slight wince. "This is bearable."

Beet stepped to his side and slipped under his arm, taking his weight on her shoulders without a word.

"Pardon?" Balthier looked down at her in surprise.

"It's getting late," she said instead of answering. "Let's get to a safer place and make camp."

They paused to collect both packs and the wrapped spear from the dust before leaving the battleground, a slight wind stirring the stiffening fur on the dead beasts that lay heaped around them. The dire talons wheeling above circled the area, drawn by the scent of blood and the sight of fresh carrion. Limping and leaning on Beet more than he cared to admit to himself, Balthier pointed toward a narrow cleft where the path switchbacked through the broken cliffs until it emerged on a plateau high above, the broken stone swept clean of sand by the wind.

They put their backs to the high, sheer cliffs and Beet built a fire, insisting that Balthier rest. He faced away from the fire, letting it warm his back as darkness descended over the Estersand. His gun was loaded and at hand, ready to fire if they were attacked again. Beet cooked while he kept watch, boiling chunks of cured meat in a small amount of water until it made a salty broth. She brought him a bowl filled with warm meat and broth poured over stale bread, then took her own and sat beside him. They ate without speaking, listening to the yips and howls of distant worgen, and the rumbling growl of a saurian or wild slaven as it answered their cries with a threat of its own.

"Thank you," Balthier said, placing his empty, still-warm bowl on the sand beside him.

"Here," Beet said, holding her hand out for the dish. "I'll scrub that out and put them away."

While she cleaned the dishes and returned them to their packs, Balthier shifted uncomfortably on the hard stone. His ribs ached, and he wanted to lean against something to ease his back. _I can't let my eyes adjust to the light,_ he thought, keeping his back to the fire and focused out into the desert.

Her sandals whispered against stone as Beet returned, carrying blankets. She draped one over Balthier's shoulders then settled down behind him, pressing her back against his. "It's rocky by the cliff," she said by way of explanation, "and I wanted something to lean against. I think you will do for now."

Balthier smiled into the dark. His discomfort eased by the support, he pulled the blanket around him but was careful to leave his gun hand free. Against his back, he could feel Beet relaxing as she drifted into sleep, still sitting up. He kept watch like that for several hours, letting her sleep while he blinked reddened eyes, fighting to stay awake.

Balthier jerked his head up, startled and not sure why. He'd drifted off, his head lowering toward his chest, but something had disturbed him. Sleep vanished with a cold chill, like ice water had been poured over his body. Beet slept, her body curled up behind him, still pressed against his back but no longer sitting upright. Then Balthier realized what had woken him from his dangerous sleep. The charm on Beet's wrist chimed softly, the bells jingling against each other even though she was completely still.

_Unbelievable,_ Balthier thought. _Maybe it wasn't a complete waste of gil after all._ He placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Beet," he said, keeping his voice low and calm. "Wake up. Something's afoot, but I'm not sure what."

Beet moaned and stirred, rubbing her eyes but moving quickly for being roused from sound sleep. The fire had died down to embers, and there was no more wood to feed it. Only a low red light surrounded them, sending long shadows out into the dark. Balthier heard Beet's dagger leave its sheath with a raspy hiss. He already had his gun in his hand and rose slowly to his feet.

Stones grated together with a low rumble, and something large walked nearby, out in the dark where it could not be seen. The impact of its footsteps sent pebbles rolling and carried vibrations up through the stone into their feet. "If it's a slaven, it should leave us be," Balthier whispered.

The creature in the dark shuffled over the plateau's stone, vocalizing a low, almost mewling moan. Beet drew in a sharp breath, almost a hiss. She stepped forward to stand beside Balthier, but he pushed her back with his free hand. He could hear her breath, rapid and shallow as she strained against his arm. Red light from the dying fire gleamed on the blade of her dagger. A coal collapsed in a flare of sparks, briefly lighting up their surroundings. The flash reflected in a pair of eyes, forward facing like a man but much too high to be a person, out on the plateau directly in front of Balthier.

Beet tried to shove past his arm, but as she pushed free he grabbed her, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her against his body and out of his line of fire. Aiming directly at the left eye reflecting the red firelight, Balthier held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The gun fired, the muzzle flash blinding in the dark. Balthier distinctly heard the wet smack of impact, and something that sounded like glass breaking. The creature let out a burbling howl and one of the red reflections vanished.

With a rumbling, grinding sound like a distant earthquake and the ground beneath their feet shaking with each pounding step, the creature turned and fled. The terrible sound of its passage grew faint, until finally they could no longer hear it. Beet stopped struggling and fell limp against Balthier. Her dagger slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground with a clatter. She clutched his vest and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders heaving and shuddering with suppressed sobs. Balthier stood with his back to the dying fire, his gun still raised and ready should the God of Steel and Stone make a return visit.


	8. In Which Our Hero Enjoys Toast and Tea

"Beet," Balthier said, squeezing her shoulder to get her attention. She had calmed down considerably, and now only sniffled against his vest. _I'll have to charge her for getting my cleaning done when this is all over_. "It's gone."

Beet straightened and pushed away from him, wiping her face and nose with the back of her hand. Balthier sighed, deep and exaggerated and threw in an eye-roll for good measure. "Here," he said, offering a lacy handkerchief. She accepted it and wiped her face, leaving mixed smears of tears and dust on the white cloth.

She held out the used hanky. Even in the dim light from the fire's embers, Balthier could see that her eyes and nose were red and swollen. He gave the dirty handkerchief a sideways look.

"Eh, you keep it for now." Balthier said, raising one hand to refuse it. "At any rate, I assume from your reaction that _was_ the mark I'm out here to kill." Finally satisfied that the golem would not be returning, Balthier rested his gun across his shoulder and returned to the fire and his blanket. Settling on the hard ground, he got as comfortable as he could, pillowing his head on his arm with his gun resting where it could be grabbed in haste.

Beet remained at the edge of the firelight, staring out into the dark. With a grimace, Balthier sat up and called to her. "It's your turn to keep watch. At least take my gun—even if you don't hit anything, it might scare the nasties away." With the danger gone, sleep was fast creeping over him and it was a struggle just to keep his eyes open. Balthier yawned, shivering as the ground's chill crept into his body. Finally Beet acknowledged him, returning to the fire to collect the offered weapon.

"You know how to shoot that?" Balthier asked. She stared at him as though he had asked her an inappropriate personal question. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Just asking." Rolling back into his blankets, Balthier squirmed around, trying to find a place that didn't have a sharp stone to gouge him in the back. He could hear the whisper of Beet's sandals against the stone as she walked back and forth at the perimeter of camp. _Even the worgen have the sense to hide from that thing_, Balthier thought, noting the eerie silence that had descended upon the desert just before sleep claimed him.

--

Balthier woke to the acerbic smell of brewed herbal tea. The last of the bread lay in toasted slices on a flat rock near his head, along with a tin mug with steaming contents. He sat up with a groan, feeling every ache from the previous day's wounds plus new ones from sleeping on the rocky ground. He took a slice of toast and sipped the tea, wincing as he burned his tongue. Beet was nowhere to be found.

She returned a short time later, emerging from a large crack in the cliff where wind and sand had opened a passage. Balthier sat by the fire's ashes with a small amount of water in his tin cup and a silver mirror in one hand. The other held a razor, with which he scraped away a small bit of stubble that had been missed in a previous pass. Beet came and squatted beside him, placing the gun on the ground between them.

Balthier rinsed the blade in the cup, swirling the water around to remove all traces of lather. He poured some into his hand and wiped it across his chin and cheeks, then tossed the rest on the ground. Patting his face dry with a clean handkerchief from his pack, he also wiped the razor before folding it and putting it away with his cup.

"Our water is limited, you know," Beet finally said.

"If I am to die of thirst," Balthier responded, "I should like to leave a presentable corpse."

Beet rolled her eyes and stood, slapping dust from her trousers. She folded her arms across her chest and faced away from Balthier, looking out over the plateau and across the desert beyond. Heat haze already shimmered in the distance. Balthier bent to pick up his gun. He cracked in half, checking to see that it was ready to fire before holstering it.

"Tracking our quarry?" he asked, gathering his pack, waterskin, and Fran's spear from where it rested against the cliff. Balthier kicked the ashes of the fire apart, scattering them. The wind would soon carry them away, scouring the campsite of all trace of their stay.

"There isn't much to track," Beet answered. "For all its bulk, the thing does not leave much sign here on the stone. And the sand shifts. By now any prints it has left are long gone."

Balthier shrugged. "I suppose there is little help for it. We shall just have to do the best we are able." He hefted his gear and walked a few steps toward the sand-choked defile Beet had emerged from earlier. "Come. This creature seems to be most active at night. Day is our best opportunity to catch it unawares."

Beet grabbed her own pack and slung it across her shoulders, falling in behind him. "I checked this gorge, but saw no trace of it." She rubbed her hands over her upper arms, as though chilled. "It was an eerie place. I do not wish to linger there."

"I thought the area looked familiar," Balthier said. He took the lead, brushing the fingertips of one hand against the sheer side of the narrow gap as he walked. "A wyrm's nest, this place was once. I daresay the local wildlife still avoids it for that reason."

Gusts of wind howled through gap, swirling sand around their legs. Dry brush and spiky grass choked by the sand rattled, scraping against the looming cliffs as the wind tugged at them. The silence filling the small canyon bore down on them, weighty and ponderous, a physical sensation. Balthier paused when the gap widened and the walls spread out, revealing a roughly circular depression surrounded on all sides by tall, striated cliffs. Huge round cacti studded with spines longer than a man's hand grew in clusters around the walls. Above, framed by the ring of reddish cliffs the cloudless sky seemed intensely blue.

"I dislike this place," Beet said. Her voice sounded flat, absorbed by the walls rather than echoing from them.

Balthier felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, as though something watched them, unseen. "I share the sentiment," he said. He rested one hand on the butt of his gun, but rather than pulling it out, he slipped the makeshift strap on Fran's spear from his shoulder. "Unwrap this for me, will you?" he asked, handing the spear to Beet.

With the rustle of cloth, she did as he asked. Balthier removed his gun from the holster and held it in one hand, his arm bent at the elbow and the barrel of the gun pointing at the sky. When Beet offered the spear to him, he shook his head in a small, abrupt motion, indicating that she should keep it for now. The pair edged forward, looking all around and ready for attack.

A sudden flurry of sand burst out from the base of a nearby cactus. With a curse, Balthier leapt back, jostling Beet and nearly knocking her from her feet. She staggered, clutching his arm for balance. Balthier steadied his gun and prepared to shoot…then relaxed, easing the cocked hammer of his gun forward until it clicked safely into place. With an angry chirp, a bright green cactuar gestured rudely at them and darted off, ducking out of sight behind a pile of tumbled boulders.

"False alarm," Balthier grumbled and spat into the sand, shoving his gun back into its holster. He looked down at his left arm, where Beet still clung to his sleeve. He cleared his throat. "Ahem."

Beet looked up, her expression almost dazed. "Huh?" Then she looked at her hand and where it was. "Oh." Realization hit. "Oh!" She stepped back, releasing Balthier's arm. The built-up tension released, and she started giggling. "Oh my," she managed, covering her mouth.

Balthier rolled his eyes and sighed, looking at the sky in an exaggerated expression of long-suffering piety. Beside him, Beet's giggles died down into fits of snorts and faint chortles. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "But its face…it was so angry…and then you…" Thinking about the situation apparently set her off again. Laughing, she sank to her knees and wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

Balthier rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the other hand on his hip. He watched her laugh with a crooked smile of his own. _When was the last time you had a good laugh, I wonder?_ he thought._ Not the place I would have chosen for it, but I wager it will do you some good._

When Beet had regained her composure to some degree, Balthier offered his hand to help her up from the ground. She returned the spear to him and brushed sand from her legs. The tension in the small valley had eased, but despite evidence to the contrary in rogue cactuars, the area seemed completely devoid of wildlife. Balthier narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the spear's dark shaft, but no other threat presented itself.

Balthier pointed out another gap on the opposite side of the valley, similar to the one they entered through. "That will take us to the Westersand," he said. "If the golem has already tried to cross the Nebra and failed, it is likely that it's on the move. Unless it went north, that is the only available path."

Beet nodded in agreement. "I don't think it would return to the Highwaste. That is where I fought it before, and so I expect that place holds bad memories for it." She crossed her arms and looked at the ground, frowning. "I do not understand what drives it though. If it is merely trying to escape, or if it has a purpose, somewhere it wants to go."

"I suppose we can ask it when we catch up," Balthier said, resting the spear across his shoulder. Beet nodded again, a faint smile playing across her lips for an instant. Then she settled her gear higher on her back and headed for the opening Balthier had indicated. Balthier fell in behind her, but before they left the little valley he paused and looked back, rubbing the back of his neck again. The prickling sensation had returned, even stronger than before.


	9. In Which Our Hero Forgets His Lessons

The Westersand's maze-like cliffs and towering buttes loomed above as Balthier and Beet trekked farther west. The strong sunlight faded as the sky grew overcast, but the stone outcroppings, striped with red and grayish-brown layers, trapped heat. Despite the gray sky the atmosphere was even more oppressive than the open air of the Estersand.

They were slowed by beast attacks, mostly packs of wolves with reddish backs and bright white underbellies. Balthier gave Fran's spear to Beet so that she had more reach. Standing back to back, they fended off the attacking creatures. As the day wore on, Balthier became peevish and cranky. His injured side ached, the skin across his nose was decidedly sunburned, and the annoying prickly sensation on the back of his neck refused to go away.

"What is it?" Beet asked when Balthier whirled around yet again, gun pointed at nothing but the cliffs and sand behind them.

"Nothing," he grumbled. "Absolutely nothing." Rolling his shoulders he holstered the gun once more and stalked ahead, taking the lead. Beet hesitated, scanning their back trail before catching up.

"He's watching us, isn't he," she said in a low voice, walking at Balthier's side.

Balthier grunted and spat to the side, irritated. "I dislike being made the fool. If this thing is so powerful, why does it slink around like a sneakthief?" He looked around, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think we should look to find water, and perhaps a place to rest. This heat will be our death before any monsters or beasties."

"Agreed," Beet said, shaking her nearly empty waterskin. The water inside sloshed faintly, slightly echoing within the hollow skin. She pointed at a splotch of bright green in the distance, nestled beneath overhanging rocks. "That might be something," she suggested. "At least it looks shady."

Distance in the desert was deceiving. A deep chasm broke the ground between where they were and the promising greenery, perpendicular to their path. It narrowed in the north, eventually closing to a small enough distance that they could leap across. Balthier went first, landing with a rattle of gear and sliding a bit as his feet hit a thin layer of loose sand atop flat stone. Beet tossed her pack across to him, then backed up a few steps and took a running leap, flinging herself across the gap. Balthier caught her when she landed, bracing himself against her momentum. Her body crashed into his and he staggered, but held her upright.

"Mm, thank you," Beet murmured, breathless from the jump. She seemed flushed, but she was also sunburned same as Balthier. He held her steady for another moment, his hands on her upper arms with her forearms braced lightly against his chest. Balthier looked down at her face, his eyes serious and expression guarded. _Yes. Definitely blushing,_ he decided.

They separated. Beet collected her bag and shouldering it, she pointed to the southwest, reorienting their path on the potential oasis. Balthier watched her for a moment before following, as the late afternoon sun finally dropped below the clouds and bathed the broken landscape in orange light. Bluish shadows collected between the rocks, stretching out long and thin as the sun hung low in the sky. _What is it about widows?_ he thought, a self-mocking smile twisting across his mouth. _I should have learned my lesson by now._

There was still at least another hour of daylight when the pair reached the small spring tucked into a shallow cave carved out of the twisted cliffs. Spiky green plants and small, stunted trees pushed up through the rocks, their deep-set roots drawing in precious water from deep underground. The spring emerged from a dark crack in the rock face and trickled down into a shallow basin before spilling over the broken stones to disappear once more into the earth. The water was clear and sweet, and bone-chillingly cold. Balthier let Beet drink, then waited for the basin to refill before cooling his own parched throat with the fresh water. They washed the desert's dust from their faces and necks with Balthier's moistened handkerchiefs, then emptied the waterskins of the last drops of warm, stale water and refilled them.

The setting sun painted the maze of stone stretching out before them blood red, the sky below the purpling clouds streaked with gold and pink and bronze. Beet sat on the sand, stretched her legs out and leaned back on her hands. Balthier stood behind her, arms crossed with his weight shifted to one leg. Dark blue shadows stretched and spread, filling the areas between the high stone walls. Gibbering bird calls bounced and echoed, interspersed with the occasional lonely howl of a hunting wolf.

"Hm," Beet said, finally breaking the silence, "I never really noticed how pretty it is out here." She shifted on the sand, turning her face up to look at Balthier. "Hard to appreciate when you're burning up, thirsty, covered in dust, and being attacked by ravenous wolves every time you turn around," she said, showing her teeth in a fleeting grin.

"Oh certainly," Balthier said, sinking to the ground beside her. "But without all that, where's the charm?" He leaned against the tumbled stones surrounding the small basin and pushed a dangling green frond away from his face. He rested one arm across his knee, draping the other across the stones at his back. Beet scooted back until she was leaning against his other leg, her back supported by his bent, upright knee. _Lessons, remember?_ Balthier thought. The warmth of her back was very pleasant against his leg, and he could feel her muscles shift as she changed position, getting more comfortable.

The scenery forgotten, Balthier watched the fading sunlight play across Beet's features instead. It made gold threads out of the tangled nest of loose hair that had slipped free of her braids, and softened the lines etched into her face around her mouth and around her eyes. Without thought, his left hand slipped forward and cupped her neck, sliding beneath her hair and around, drawing her towards him. He could feel the strong cords of her neck, the shifting tendons that briefly strained against him then relaxed, allowing her to move as he willed. He leaned forward as she moved, hesitating only an instant before their lips met.

Her mouth was soft and sweet, still tasting of the cool water from the spring. The salty tang of sweat filled his nose, mingled with the fresh, moist scent of crushed plants as he pushed away from the rocks. Both hands cupping her face now, caressing her jaw, her throat. Her breath quickened, hot against his mouth as they parted for an instant then came together again. She had her hands in his hair now, pulling him towards her into the kiss.

Balthier moved one hand down, following her body to the small of her back. She was on her knees, supported by his hands and by her arms around his neck. He leaned back, pulling her closer as he fell backwards, until he lay on the sand and she rested on top of him, her breasts pressing against his chest and the rest of her body alongside his. Their ardor slowed, relaxing into soft, lazy kisses as cool shadows filled the hollow where they lay and the blazing sky faded into shades of pearl and blue. Beet turned her face away at last, resting her head against Balthier's chest. He held her in a loose embrace, stroking her hair and savoring the taste of her on his lips.

They were still for a time, but eventually a sharp stone that was prodding Balthier in the kidney grew too insistent to ignore. He shifted away from the discomfort and Beet raised up, rolling to the side so that she lay against him, still encircled by his arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured, following a curl of golden scrollwork on his vest with her finger. "For the reminder, I mean."

"Reminder of what?" Balthier asked. He toyed with her hair, curling one tangled braid around his fingers and releasing it.

Beet sat up on one elbow, pushing out from beneath his arm and turning so that she faced him. Balthier pillowed his head with his other arm, raising up slightly to look at her. "Reminder that I'm still alive," she said. "That I can still feel. Still enjoy the touch of a man, a beautiful sunset."

"In that case, you're welcome," Balthier said. "I can think other things you might need reminders for, if you'd like." He drew her towards him again, cupping his hand around the back of her neck.

Beet pulled back before their lips met again. She smiled and lifted her chin, planting a kiss on his forehead. Then pushing away, she stood and dusted off her clothes and twisted at the waist in a vigorous stretch. "I don't know about you, but I am starving!" she announced. "Let's get a fire started so we can eat."

Balthier lay in the sand, the side of his body growing chilled now that her warmth was gone. _Lessons,_ he thought, _I was never very good at learning those._ Standing up, he brushed the sand from his sleeves and straightened his cuffs. With one last glance out into the rapidly darkening landscape, he turned to join Beet in gathering firewood so that they could stave off the darkness.


	10. In Which Our Hero Demonstrates Courage

The fire crackled and snapped, sending orange sparks spiraling up towards the overhanging rocks and out into the open. The shallow cave's blackened ceiling spoke for the spot's popularity as a campsite. Wood was plentiful, gathered from the scraggly trees and fallen limbs that surrounded the tiny oasis. The greasy wood burned slowly, Balthier occasionally feeding the small blaze another twisted limb or dry stick. Beet slept curled at his side, resting in the crook of his arm with her head on his chest. After they ate, she seemed content to merely sit beside him until she fell asleep, much to Balthier's disappointment.

"I suppose it is to be expected," he said to himself, speaking softly so he did not wake Beet. "After all, we've just met, you're obsessed with an insane dead scientist that you built your entire life around, and there's a homicidal golem out there that fully intends to kill us both." He shifted his grip on the gun in his lap, eyes scanning the dark at the edge of the firelight. "It was just poor timing all 'round."

Beet shifted in her sleep and mumbled something unintelligible, nestling her body closer to Balthier's side. He winced as her elbow jabbed him in the ribs. "Now, now. Don't get all broken up about it," he continued. "It just wasn't meant to be. I've got my life, you've got your…whatever, and never the twain shall meet."

One of the larger sticks in the fire burned through and broke, collapsing in a shower of sparks. "Honestly," Balthier said, squinting at what looked like a distant reflection of the flickering fire. "It's not you. It's me. Or maybe it is you. Who really cares at this point," he muttered, raising his gun and flicking a quick glance to his side, where Fran's spear stood against the back wall of the cave. It was uncovered and the smooth-bladed head gleamed in the firelight. "Beet, I think you should wake up," he said, gently squeezing her shoulder.

The floor of the cave vibrated with heavy pulses, each one increasing in intensity. _Footsteps,_ Balthier realized. The bells on Beet's bracelet chimed in time with each impact. Sand and pebbles jostled free slid down the cave wall to the rear and cascaded down from the ceiling in small dusty falls of debris. Beet pushed away from him and rolled out of her blanket, rubbing her eyes with one hand and reaching for the grip of dagger with the other though she did not immediately draw it.

"It's returned?" she asked, blinking eyes bleary with sleep.

Free of Beet's weight, Balthier pushed to his feet. "So it seems. I dislike this business of fighting it at night, but perhaps I'll get a shot at its other eye tonight." He cracked open his gun, checking the bullets, then snapped it shut again. "A blind golem will be much easier to find come daylight."

The cracking and groaning of rocks grinding together reached their ears. Balthier glanced at Beet. Her nostrils were flared, and other than two spots of color high on her cheeks, her face had gone pale. "Ahh…" he said, choosing his next words with care. "I _am_ the one you hired to take down this mark. I'd rather you didn't go charging out into the dark like you tried last night."

Beet whipped her head around, glaring at him for a moment. Then she laughed, sounding bitter and nervous. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking last night." She shook her head. "I suppose…I wasn't thinking anything. I'm glad you were there to stop me."

"Just stay back this time and let me take the lead," Balthier said. "I would hate to shoot you by mistake in the dark."

The rumbling footsteps stopped, but the cascade of dust and small stones from above was near-constant. "I don't like the looks of this cave anymore," Balthier said. "Grab our gear. I think it's time to relocate." _We're like hares in a spotlight in here,_ he thought. Eyes narrowed, he tried to judge where the creature was most likely to be. _To the left of the entrance, there was an open area. That's the way we came in, and where it felt like we were being watched._

Beet returned to his side, both packs and all of the waterskins slung across her back. Carrying his gun in one hand, Balthier grabbed the spear in his other. "This way!" he said, canting his head to the right. Beet darted out of the cave and ran around the spring's basin, disappearing from view as she left the circle of firelight. Balthier followed on her heels.

Away from the fire, his eyes began to adjust to the dark. He could see Beet's form ahead of him, dodging around rocks. She stumbled in the sand and nearly fell, but caught herself and kept running. Balthier heard her swear and raised his eyebrows at the curse.

"You all right?" he called. He looked back over his shoulder and nearly fell himself, staggering in shock. A massive form stood at the mouth of the cave. Shaped like a man, it stood twice as tall as one. Its broad head sloped down into lumpy shoulders. What appeared to be grass grew across one shoulder and high on its back. Huge stony fists hung from long arms, and its legs seemed to sprout like earthen trees from the ground. The golem turned its head and the firelight limned its rough, almost featureless face. One round eye glowed; the other was only a dark cavity. The rock around the empty socket was broken, knocked away by the bullet. Flickering light gleamed over exposed steel.

Balthier stopped in his tracks. He raised his gun and cocked it, taking aim on the golem's exposed single eye. The distance was less than the previous night. _That was a lucky shot and you know it,_ he thought. Narrowing his eyes, he squeezed the trigger with a low grunt. The gun's muzzle sprouted a blossom of fire for an instant. Blinking through the afterimage, Balthier gasped as the golem raised a massive fist and took the shot square on the forearm. Sparks flew as the bullet struck stone and whined away into the dark.

"Damn! He's protecting his eye!" Balthier snapped off another shot, with the same result.

A few paces away, Beet waited. "What's wrong? What's going on?" she called to him.

Balthier shoved his gun in the holster and ran toward Beet. "Go!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her along, holding the spear out and away from his body in the other hand.

"Why are we running?" she asked, stumbling beside him.

"Vitality before violence!" Balthier said over his shoulder, releasing her arm so that she could run more easily.

"Isn't that just a fancy way of saying you're a coward!" Beet shouted, her sandals pounding the hard-packed sand as she kept pace.

Behind them, the golem let out a burbling roar and smashed something, judging from the crash and rumble that echoed through the narrow passage. The cliffs around them seemed to lean together, funneling the pair into a tight gap. In the dark, they had no way to tell what lay ahead and simply ran, hoping the ground would not drop out from beneath them into a chasm or that the trail would not simply peter out, ending in a blank wall. Unfortunately, it appeared that the latter would be the case.

Balthier managed to stop short before running full-tilt into what appeared to be a dead end. Beet did not, and crashed into his back knocking them both sprawling. Balthier hit the wall with his shoulder and side, air rushing from his lungs. "Oof!" Beet's head smacked into his chin, and for a moment all he could see were stars. Limbs tangled together, the two of them tumbled to the ground and rolled across the sand, coming to rest against a pile of crumbled rock.

Balthier shook his head, trying to clear his vision. What had appeared to be a dead end was actually just an outcrop, where the narrow canyon took a hard jog to one side before opening up. He and Beet lay in a heap; Balthier was mostly sitting upright but she was sprawled across his legs, rubbing her head, presumably where it had struck his chin.

"Owww," she moaned. "I think it's making a knot."

"That's a small concern, all things considered," Balthier said. "More importantly, what happened to—" He broke off, interrupted by a now-familiar roar. "Well, that answers that question."

Rumbling footsteps shook the ground, gaining intensity. "There is no way he fit through!" Beet cried, struggling to untangle herself from Balthier's legs.

Balthier looked up, scanning the dark cliff walls above their heads. The rock looked black, with a narrow strip of dark blue marking the sky. The heavy cloud cover obscured the moon and stars, leaving scant light to illuminate their surroundings. "I suspect he rose above the problem," he said. Beet managed to get to her feet, freeing Balthier's legs from her weight. "Here, help me up," he said, groaning as he moved and twinges of fresh pain shot through his side.

Beet grabbed his extended hands, but before she could pull him to his feet, the golem roared on the cliff above. Its single eye glared down at them, glowing yellow against the creature's black silhouette. It leapt from the cliff and landed with a deafening crash nearby. The ground shuddered, and debris fell all around them, shaken loose by the impact.

Still holding onto Beet's hands, Balthier felt something _shift_ in the pile of rocks he rested on. Before he could react, the rocks slid away and he was sliding with them, falling backwards with a sickening drop. Pulled off-balance, Beet fell forward with a wordless cry, tumbling into the dark with him.


	11. In Which Our Hero Breaks His Gun

"Ugh," Balthier groaned. He considered sitting up, but decided against it. Opening his eyes, he flinched as greenish light, too bright for his dark-adjusted vision, speared his eyes. Squinting until the pain ebbed, he slowly pushed himself up until he was able to lean on one elbow and look around. The light was actually quite dim, once he adjusted to it, but it was bright enough to see that he lay in a cavern of some sort. The rounded walls and dark tunnels that branched off either direction to the side suggested that water had once flowed through here, carving the stone and wearing it smooth. Magicite studded the walls, small chunks here and there, emitting soft green light from the Mist stored within them.

Debris scattered the floor in a circular pattern all around him, and dust covered his clothes. Beet lay in a heap nearby, one pack still on her back and the other on the ground beside her. Fran's spear jutted from the ground where it had fallen point-down. The dark wooden shaft was broken off a third of the way down, leaving a jagged point.

Balthier rolled over, leaning on his elbows, his head hanging. He squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace, as the motion sent daggers of pain stabbing through his side and chest. He gasped for breath and coughed, which sent him to whole new levels of agony. When he opened his eyes again, the ground in front of him was spattered with dark spots. He wiped his mouth and his hand came away smeared with blood. Head spinning, his vision swam and something dark and warm ran across his eye. He wiped it away but more flowed across his face. Balthier reached up, touching his head gingerly. His fingers found a knot and raw flesh on the side of his head, above his ear. Balthier hissed, jerking his hand away as soon as he touched it. When he rolled over, blood from the wound had started running across his face. _Probably the reason the room won't be still_, he thought.

Setting his teeth against the pain, Balthier pushed himself to his knees with a hiss of indrawn breath. His vision went black for a moment. When it cleared, he crawled across the tumbled stones to where Beet lay with the packs. _Potion._ His chaotic thoughts crystallized on that one word. His pack was the one that had come free and fallen to the side. Balthier tore open the flap, scattering the remains of his food supplies, pawing through the sundry contents that Tomaj had packed for his use. His hand came away wet, fingers coated in a slick blue liquid that smelled faintly sweet.

_No!_ Balthier dumped out the entire contents of his pack, breath coming in jerky gasps at the exertion. _No, no, no, no!_ All shattered, their bottles already turned to dust, the healing liquid wasted as it ran out of the pack and soaked into the sand.

"Beet," Balthier groaned, reaching for her. He pulled himself to her side, holding his hand beneath her nose to see if she was still breathing. An ugly knot swelled on her forehead, and Balthier's chin ached in sympathy. Her right leg had an unnatural twist and blood stained her trousers just above the knee. In the strange green light, Beet's face looked unnaturally pale, the dark circles under her eyes even more pronounced.

Placing his hand beside her head, Balthier leaned across her and pulled at her pack until it came open. Reaching inside, he started pushing things out, mostly similar to his own supplies. Waxed packets of food—between them, they had little left—a cup and bowl, a few small articles of clothing. Finally he located a lumpy bundle wrapped in the scarf she had been using to cover her head in the Estersand. It felt damp on one side, and disappointment twisted in his guts.

Unrolling the scarf, Balthier almost wept when he saw that it still contained a few intact bottles. One was larger and more ornate, lying beside two smaller potions. He set that one aside and drank one of the small potions, feeling his pain ease immediately to a more bearable level.

Balthier shifted to a kneeling position beside the still-unconscious Beet. When he did he noticed that the hand that had been resting beside her head was damp. Raising it up, he saw that it was covered in blood. "Beet!" He shook her, trying to wake her up. Easing his hand beneath her head, his face twisted in dismay when he felt hot blood pulsing out over his fingers.

Though he was no longer in danger of passing out, Balthier was weakened and still badly injured from the fall. _Not really the time to try casting magick_, he thought with a scowl. A healing spell would have been quite handy, but having it backfire in his face could harm them both. Shaking out the scarf that the potions had been wrapped in, he folded it into a thick pad and pressed it to Beet's head, trying to stem the flow of blood. She moaned and stirred when he applied pressure, her brows knitting together in a grimace of pain.

"Beet!" he said. "You have to wake up!" Balthier grabbed the larger potion bottle, prepared to force the liquid down her throat if he had to. _And then I can hope she doesn't choke on it and drown._

"Mmm?" Beet moaned, her eyes fluttering. "Bal—Balthier?"

Balthier wrenched the stopper from the bottle and set the potion to her lips. "Don't talk. Drink."

Still disoriented, Beet complied, swallowing the thick blue liquid. The potion swirled and faintly sparkled as Balthier tipped the bottle up, making sure Beet drank every last drop. Before his eyes, her leg straightened as the bone healed. Beneath his fingers the flow of blood soaking through the scarf eased, then stopped. Balthier looked at the ornate bottle, now empty. The emblem stamped into the glass flared and the bottle melted into nothing in his hand, even the remains vaporized but without the slightest heat.

"That was the good stuff," Balthier said with an appreciative grin, rocking back on his heels.

Beet sat up and looked around. "What in the world…" She touched the back of her head where her hair was matted with blood, then her leg where a damp, dark stain glued the fabric to her leg. "I was…" she murmured, then looked up at the dark hole that opened in the cavern's roof above them. "We fell and…"

"Let me know when your wits have gathered themselves," Balthier said, pressing a hand to his side. In addition, the superficial wound on his scalp had closed but the ache from the blow remained, and if he moved his head too quickly the room still spun. "I don't know how long we've been lying her, but I'd like to put some more distance between ourselves and our metal friend."

Beet picked up the last potion and held it out. "We aren't going anywhere until you drink this," she said. "No sense in saving it, as injured as you are. You won't survive to use it later."

Balthier accepted it without protest. He had initially thought to save it for Beet, but his body made a persuasive argument against chivalry. "Bottoms up," he said, downing the potion. Cool, tingling relief spread through his body. The stabbing pain in his side faded to a dull, throbbing ache. His head stopped hurting, and most importantly the room no longer attempted to spin.

Beet stood then offered a hand to help Balthier up. "That's supposed to be my job," he muttered, but accepted her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. She bent down and started shoving scattered supplies into Balthier's pack, the larger of the two. Their depleted provisions fit neatly inside, with her now-empty pack tossed in on top. Beet shouldered the pack and fiddled with the strap adjustment while Balthier limped over to Fran's spear and collected what was left of it, pulling it from the ground with a jerk. His gun also lay on the ground, half buried in some rubble. He kicked the stones away and picked it up.

"Damn!" Balthier examined the gun. The firing mechanism was battered and bent out of shape, and one side of the barrel bore a large dent. He shoved it back into the holster with a scowl. _That is going to cost a small fortune to have repaired_, he thought, unhappy with the prospect of the hunt costing more in the long run than the reward would pay. _What was that old saying about counting chickatrices before they hatch again?_

"Ready?" Beet asked, calling to him from the far side of the chamber where one of the tunnels extended out of view. "I can hear water this way, maybe it runs out somewhere."

"This is what I get for leaving my Viera at home," Balthier said as he picked his way across the rubble and crossed the chamber. "She could sniff us out of here, and probably knock down that golem on the way out."

"She sounds impressive," Beet said as they entered the tunnel. The soft green light illuminated the walls but was not as bright, the nodes of magicite smaller and more spread out.

"Impressive doesn't even begin to describe Fran," Balthier replied. "Actually I'm not sure how one _would_ begin to describe Fran."

Beet laughed, her voice echoing weirdly against the smooth, curved walls. "I've not spent time with many Viera, but judging by the ones I have spoken too, I think that is a racial trait." She paused and glanced back at Balthier. "You are very fortunate," she said with a smile. "I can tell from how you speak of her that she means a great deal to you."

Balthier stopped in his tracks, not entirely sure how to respond to that. Beet kept walking, not waiting for a reply. Balthier quirked an eyebrow, staring at her back before he finally shrugged and fell into step behind her.


	12. In Which Our Hero Emerges from Darkness

Balthier wasn't sure, but he got the impression that the tunnel they followed had a definite trend to the north. When they fled their camp, they had been traveling roughly south. The presence of water also suggested that they were headed back toward the spring, retracing their steps.

It wasn't long before the tunnel opened up into another chamber, this one even more heavily studded with glowing magicite. Balthier let out a low whistle. The Mist in this room was thicker, gathering in swirling clouds in the darker corners of the room and drifting across the floor in a thin fog. Water trickled down one wall from a crack extending up through the ceiling. It gathered in a pool at the base of the wall, then streamed across the floor of the chamber where it had cut a shallow channel. The channel disappeared under the opposite wall, the water flowing into a low opening like an open mouth in the base of the wall. The tunnel they entered from was the only way in or out of the chamber.

"So much for following the water out," Beet said, her voice betraying her dismay. She knelt by the pool and drank from her cupped hand. "I guess this is where that little spring goes," she said, looking up at the water as it flowed out of the dark opening above.

Balthier kept his eyes on the swirling Mist. "I think we should look for another exit," he said, gripping the broken spear. "I don't like the looks of this Mist."

Beet stood and dried her hands on her pants. "I would have thought you'd want to wash your face, while there was a chance," she said.

"Had this been another time and another place, you would be absolutely right," Balthier said. "But this is no place to tarry. Let's go." He turned and headed for the tunnel, Beet falling in behind him.

A squishing, sloshing sound from somewhere behind them caught their attention. Beet stopped and turned around, looking for the source. The sound grew louder, echoing and layering upon itself until it seemed to surround them. Balthier raised his eyes to the ceiling, mostly hidden in darkness. Motion caught his eye.

"Get back!" he shouted, pushing Beet back into the chamber. Something green and undulating dropped from above, splattering the spot where they had been standing. The green goo flowed back into itself, reforming into a wobbling, jelly-like blob. The center of the blob broke apart into a wide maw, and eyes with elongated pupils rolled to the surface above the mouth like hideous bubbles. More slimes fell from the ceiling like massive raindrops, pelting the cavern until a group of six clustered at the cave's mouth, trapping Beet and Balthier inside.

Beet drew her dagger and Balthier brandished the spear, its broken haft leaving him with little more reach than a sword. The slimes advanced, extending their bodies into stubby arms that they whirled around, pummeling their prey.

"Oof!" Balthier pushed Beet aside and took the brunt of an attack, the jelly-like arms impacting his body like hard rubber clubs. He slashed with the spear and the slime dodged back, but not before the head of the spear sliced through its body. The exterior of the slime broke apart and lighter goo leaked out through the slash. A fetid odor filled the air and the slime let out a bubbling howl. Wounded, the slime fell back and two more took its place, rotating arms swinging wildly at the two Humes in their midst.

Violet light flared around Beet and she gestured with one hand at the advancing slimes. _"Aero!"_ she shouted, completing the spell. Gusts of wind buffeted the slimes, but they only trembled slightly, jiggling like puddings. The magicite in the walls flared, and one large node extending from the floor like a crystal released an echo of the same spell, filling the room with another swirling gust of wind with little effect upon the slimes.

"Careful!" Balthier shouted, blocking a series of rubbery slaps with his forearm. "This room is full of Mist. Cast spells wildly and we could end up frying ourselves for these fellows to have for breakfast!"

"I'll try another," Beet said, lowering her head in concentration as she started to chant.

"Damn it all!" Balthier stabbed at a slime, then whirled, swinging the spear around to slash across another one. Stinking ichor splashed across his face. Blinded, he dropped to one knee and pawed at his eyes, trying to clear his vision.

"_Fira!"_ Beet shouted from somewhere at his back, and he felt heat blossom all around him. The slimes howled and sizzled, thrashing in the flames. He felt hands grab his shoulders, pulling him across the slick floor away from the heat. Another blast of heat, and the slimes wailed again. There was no accompanying chant; the magicite going off, then. A third node released Mist in an echo of Beet's spell, and the wails of the slimes trailed off into burbling whimpers and moans, until the only sound was a nasty sizzle as ichor burned away on the floor.

Balthier felt Beet slip under his arm and put her arm around his body, trying to lift him. "Enough, enough," he said, standing on his own. "I just can't see, got this stuff in my eyes."

Beet helped Balthier to the pool, and he was finally able to wash his face. He sighed in relief, feeling the layers of dirt and blood rinse away. The slime ichor washed off and he blinked his eyes rapidly, rubbing at them with the heel of his hand until his vision cleared.

"Now," he said, picking up the spear again and rising to his feet. "Let's make ourselves scarce."

"Look!" Beet said, grabbing his arm. She pointed up, at the cracks in the ceiling. Gray light was starting to stream down. Dawn had finally come.

Balthier prodded the ceiling with the point of the spear. Debris rained down on him, and he spluttered, spitting dirt out of his mouth. "I think that oversized tin can destabilized this cavern," he said, "and your spells didn't do it any favors."

Beet covered her mouth with her hands. "I'm sorry! I could have brought the whole thing down on our heads!"

"No matter now," Balthier said with a shrug. "If you've any juice left, another Aero might open up one of these holes enough for us to climb out."

True to his words, when Beet cast a carefully aimed Aero spell at the crumbling hole in the ceiling, a large slab of rock broke away and fell with a crash. Light streamed in through the dust. A few smaller nodes of magicite fired off weak echoes of the spell, sending the dust swirling around and generating a brief whirlwind that circled in the new opening and was sucked out, like through a chimney.

Balthier stood on the fallen slab and gave Beet a leg up, boosting her up through the ragged hole into the morning light. She reached down and he handed her the spear, then eyed the opening above his head. _Bit too far to jump, in your current sorry shape I fear_, he mused. Before he could come up with an alternate solution, his pack dangled through the hole.

"Grab on," Beet said.

"This is not going to end well," Balthier said, raising a doubtful eyebrow at the sketchy lifeline she offered.

"Oh just grab the pack, you ass," Beet snapped. "I'm tied off up here with my scarf."

Balthier shrugged. "If you insist." He reached up and took hold of the pack, pulling himself off the ground.

"Now climb up!" Beet groaned through clenched teeth. "I can't pull you!"

Balthier used the pack like a makeshift rope, lifting himself with his arms until he was high enough to grab a handhold jutting from the broken rock. He released the bag and swung his body around, scrabbling for another handhold. His muscles screaming, he pulled himself slowly upward until he was able to hitch his body up and over the rim of the hole. Gasping, he rolled over and lay on his back in the sand and stared up at the brightening sky.

Beet flopped down beside him. "I apologize," she said. "I shouldn't have called you that."

"I've been called worse," Balthier said. "I've also been called better. As an insult, it was very middle-of-the-road."

"Hah," Beet responded with a short, tired laugh. "See if I apologize next time, if that's how you act."

"Are you saying you plan to make a habit of calling me names?" Balthier asked, rolling up onto one elbow. He reached for Beet, but froze in mid-motion, staring over her shoulder.

"What?" she asked, twisting to see what had alarmed Balthier.

On the cliff overlooking their former campsite, the golem knelt, motionless as a statue. Part of the stone packed over its chest had broken away—or been removed—revealing the steel beneath. Pulsing with bright golden light where a man's heart would have rested, the golem's stone heart lay exposed to the dawn. As the sun's light hit the creature, the heart glowed brightly. Visible even at a distance, light seemed to flow into the stone and then out, radiating along fine lines or wires that disappeared into the golem's body. As more energy flowed through the stone, the golem started to move. The blank glass eye brightened until it glowed like a flame, and even in the empty socket a tiny spark flickered.

The golem turned its ponderous head, stone grinding with small chips and pebbles flaking away. It reached down and took up a pile of stone in one hand, then pressed it to the hole in its chest. The stone seemed to melt, flowing over the hole and sealing it shut, then solidified until it looked like the rest of the living stone that made up the golem's outer surface.

With a howl that vibrated the very stone around them, the golem rose up to its full, towering height. Then with two massive strides it leapt from the cliff and slammed into the ground below, the impact fracturing the stones covering its legs, sending shards flying off in all directions.

The resulting shockwave rumbled through the ground. All around where Balthier and Beet lay, sections of the ground sank away, falling into the cave below.

"Dammit, not again!" Balthier shouted, grabbing Beet by the arm and pulling her to her feet.

The golem stalked across the unsteady ground, tottering as one foot plunged into a sinkhole of its own creation. Balthier pushed Beet behind him then cast about for the spear.

_There!_ He spotted it a few yards away, near the edge of a crumbling hole. He dove for it and rolled away with the weapon clutched in his hand as the golem lunged, its massive foot driving into the ground where his head had been. While it was off-balance, Balthier lunged at it with the spear, driving towards the weak point marked on the schematic drawing: under the arm, between where the second and third ribs would have been on a man.

The golem snarled, a sound like rusty gears grinding together. It slapped the spear away, blocking Balthier's strike. Cocking one massive arm back, the golem plunged its fist toward Balthier, once more smashing into the ground where the pirate had been just seconds before.

His breath rasping in his chest, Balthier danced over the unsteady ground. One foot nearly slipped into a widening crack, where sand hissed as it was drawn into the earth. _I don't have the stamina for this,_ Balthier realized. His chest burned and his ribs ached with every breath. The spear in his hands felt impossibly heavy, and though he forced himself to move quickly to stay out of the golem's reach, he knew it was a pace he could not maintain for long. _Have to end this quick._

The golem turned away, its attention drawn to Beet who huddled near the ruined spring. It moaned and stomped towards her, ignoring Balthier.

"Hey!" Balthier shouted, trying to get its attention. "I wasn't finished with you yet!" He lunged with the spear, stabbing between the creature's shoulderblades. The golem never slowed. The point of the spear made contact then glanced off, sparks flying as the metal scraped against rough stone.

Beet stood her ground, her dagger in one hand. She chanted under her breath, Mist swirling around her feet as it was drawn up into her spell. Raising her hand toward the advancing golem, she shouted the final word of the spell.

"_Water!"_

A raging torrent drawn from thin air swirled around the golem. It thrashed and struggled against the pressure of the water, but was forced backwards, staggering. Bits of rock broke away, revealing parts of the steel skeleton, and whatever energy drove its internal mechanisms reacted violently. Energy arced through the air and sparks shot up, showering the ground around the golem. As quickly as it had appeared, the water drained away.

The golem shuddered. Its frame jerked with loud zaps and pops. Then it threw back its head and roared, enraged. Beet threw herself to one side as the golem charged her, smashing into the rock with full force. Balthier darted in and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. The two of them ran for safety while the golem thrashed, pounding the rocks around the spring into gravel.

Water shot into the air, released as the rock face crumbled. Staggering backward, the berserk golem looked around for its targets, finally spotting them near the opposite cliff. It bellowed and stomped forward, picking up speed as it charged towards their position.

Balthier stepped forward, placing his body between Beet and the golem. _Time to end this._

"Let me show you how it's done!" he shouted. Dropping the spear, Balthier raised his right hand. Blue-white light glowed from his fingertips as he traced a symbol in the air, the light leaving an afterimage that hung for a moment before fading. Mist gathered, pooling around his feet with flickering, sparkling light. The water streaming from the shattered spring flowed around him, drawn in by the Mist. It swirled and rose into a wall of water in front of the golem. The creature stopped in its tracks, backing away from the looming wave. Putting his fingers to his lips, Balthier whistled. "Heads up!" he cried.

The water trembled for a second, then crashed down, pounding the golem without mercy. The ground beneath it collapsed and the water poured down into the cave below, taking the golem with it. Like an ocean, the wave rolled and tumbled the creature over and over. The torrent seemed endless; the water wrought by Beet's previous spell was puny in comparison. The golem writhed in the swirling waters, its body shuddering as arcs of energy pulsed out of it. Its stone body broke apart and fell away, and as the magickal waters finally drained away and disappeared, only the steel frame beneath remained. It lay still, sprawled across the rubble filling the former cave, skeletal limbs gleaming in the bright morning sun.


	13. In Which Our Hero Fulfills His Promise

Balthier stepped to the edge of the cave-in, careful not get too close to the crumbling lip. The walls of the cave sloped down steeply, buried in rubble from the collapse. He gripped the spear once more, but sweat beaded on his face and his eyes were tight with pain and exhaustion. He was getting close to his limit, and the Quickening had drained his last reserves of strength.

Beet joined him, looking over the edge. "It isn't dead," she said, her voice flat. Balthier glanced at her. She looked much like she did the night they met, exhaustion pooled in the dark shadows below her eyes, strain drawing deep lines around her mouth and across her brow. One of her braids had come loose, and her tangled hair drifted in the hot breeze.

Below, the golem's body remained motionless but as the sun shone on the dark heart in its chest, something started to happen. The stone pulsed, light slowly building deep within its darkened interior. As they watched, horrified, the stone absorbed more light and began to fitfully pump energy into the stricken golem's limbs.

"That's just perfect," Balthier complained, rolling his eyes. Hopping over the rim of the collapsed cavern, he picked his way over the rubble down the steep slope, finally sliding to a stop at the bottom. With a clatter of displaced gravel, Beet joined him. He gave her a disapproving glare, then stepped ahead of her and advanced on the fallen golem.

The golem's heart pulsed, golden light flickering like a candle about to sputter out. With a groan like gnashing gears, the steel creature slowly rose to its feet. Still taller than a man, it had regardless lost a great deal of its bulk. Balthier could see the heart clearly now, set into a glass chamber within a cavity in the golem's chest. "Nethicite," he whispered.

Balthier braced the spear, ignoring the twinge of pain as the broken end of the shaft left splinters in his hand. The golem advanced, crushing rubble to dust beneath its heavy feet. It turned its smooth, featureless face towards Balthier, the light behind its glass eye flaring. He stood his ground as the golem raised its arm.

Even without the bulk of stone sheathing its bones, the golem was heavy and powerful. It swung a steel fist down, attempting to crush Balthier's skull. At the last second, Balthier dodged to one side. In his exhaustion his feet were unsure, and a stone rolled beneath his heel. He only partially avoided the blow, the golem's fist striking him in the shoulder and sending him sprawling to the floor.

The spear dropped from numbed fingers with a clatter and Balthier rolled to one side, shaking his head, trying to clear it of cobwebs. His right arm hung limp, and for some reason he couldn't get his feet coordinated enough to stand. He looked up as the golem loomed over him, shining fist raised once more.

"Stop!" Beet threw herself between Balthier and the golem, arms outstretched. She stared up at it as though daring it to strike her down, but the metal creature hesitated.

"Beet, what the hell are you doing?" Balthier managed to rise to one knee, scrabbling with his left hand for the fallen spear. "Get out of the way!"

Beet did not respond. Her entire body was focused on the golem, hatred and rage pouring from her. _"Why!?"_ she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why did you kill him?"

Balthier wobbled on one knee, still unsteady from the golem's blow. To his amazement, the golem seemed to respond to her question. It lowered its raised fist and looked to the side, as though confused or ashamed. It cocked its head, training its single eye on Beet. A line appeared, slicing across the lower part of its face. It widened, opening to reveal the golem's mouth.

Air wheezed through its metal jaws, and the golem reached out with its gleaming hand, the fingers open and palm up rather than clenched in a fist. The golem groaned again, and Balthier realized it was trying to speak.

A single word, wrenched with an agonizing groan from its artificial throat. "Ohhhmmmaaaaahhhh…" it sighed.

Beet's hands flew to her face, covering her mouth. "No. No, no, no, no, no," she whispered over and over. Dropping her hands, she screamed at it. "Why won't you just die?"

The golem's strange mood abruptly changed. Bellowing in rage, it smashed a fist down into the floor to the right of where Beet stood. The impact threw her to the left, where she fell in a heap. Pushing herself up on one elbow, she could only look up, helpless, as the golem raised its fists again, this time ready to smash her to a pulp.

Balthier lunged to his feet, staggering to the golem's flank. Its focus was entirely on Beet, and with both arms raised its weakness was revealed. Balthier spotted it—a hole in the side of the golem's torso, flat and rectangular. Just wide enough for the blade of a sword or dagger. Or a spear.

With a wordless cry, Balthier shoved the spear into the golem's chest. Even left handed, his aim was true and the blade pierced through the glass surrounding the creature's heart. The nethicite inside fractured under the impact and burst into pieces, the cover on the front of the golem's chest exploding outward with a crash of shattering glass. Balthier threw his body over Beet's as shards of glass and gouts of white flame spewed from the golem as it roared and writhed above them.

The golem turned and staggered away, pawing at the broken spear shaft jutting from its side. The steel around its chest cavity started to melt from the intensity of the mist being released from the shattered nethicite. Its knees buckled and it collapsed to the floor with a crash, rolling over with its face to the sky. One hand raised up, as though reaching for something only it could see. Finally, the arm dropped to the ground and the golem's body arched up, Mist streaming out of the nethicite straight up in a white-hot band of flame and light.

When all was silent, Balthier raised up from where he covered Beet, glass and debris falling from his shoulders to the ground. He staggered to his feet and extended his left hand to help Beet up. The feeling was starting to come back into his right arm and shoulder, but the tingling and twinges of pain weren't much of an improvement. Beet slipped under his left arm and took his weight on her shoulders, supporting him as they limped over to the charred and twisted frame that was all that remained of the golem.

Balthier leaned over to remove the burned spear from the golem's body, but the shaft broke apart and crumbled into ash. The head of the spear was indistinguishable from the melted remains of the golem's chest. "Sorry Fran," Balthier said. "I suppose I'll have to get you a new spear."

Beet patted his chest and smiled up at him. "I think she'll forgive you," she said.

"You haven't met Fran," Balthier sighed.

The bedraggled pair struggled up the steep embankment and clambered out of the caved-in hole. Water still gushed from the broken spring, flowing over the shattered rocks and down into the open cave. The collapse had sealed off the openings, blocking the tunnel that led deeper into the caverns as well as the small mouth carved by the spring water's path, and the clear water rushed over the mounded rubble and was already starting to pool below. They drank and cleaned up, splitting the last potion between them. Only a mouthful for each, but it sealed their cuts and eased the ache of new bruises. Then they sat in the shade while the sun passed overhead and the morning became afternoon, and then night.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_For anyone checking to see if there's a note here: one more chapter left; should have it up soon._

* * *


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